Ties that Bind
by Asika
Summary: The bonds that can form between friends can cross even faction lines, withstand the strain of racial differences, and bring together new allies during times of crisis. World of Warcraft, loosely AU, mostly legit. Warlock Trilogy Book 1.
1. Chapter 1

The tauren scratched his wide nose and crested the top of a grassy hill. A few days' walking had brought him out to the middle of nowhere, following a meandering path of his own choosing. Below him, far out upon the plain, he could make out the vague shapes of creatures – creatures that would provide him with meat and also skins - and no people in sight.

Brock scratched his nose again, pondering...if he circled in from the west, he could loop around and back toward home, and if the beasts he took today were large enough, he would have enough hide to finish the breastplate he was currently working on.

As he lumbered along, in no real hurry, the horizon before him grew darker and greener - he was approaching an oasis, most likely. He could soak his hooves, maybe swim a bit, before heading out to hunt; perhaps he'd camp there overnight even, it would be much cooler than sleeping out on the plains.

His back grew cool as the sun slipped behind a cloud, and as he gazed ahead he noticed movement amongst the trees. At first he thought it was his eyes playing tricks on him, that it was heat rising from the ground and in the absence of direct sunlight could see the waves, but then he made out the forms of several humanoids heading north, following the tree line. He drew closer as they moved on, and finally Brock was close enough to see them clearly. It was a group of five, three humans and two night elves. Alliance, out here? They were far from any outpost friendly to them. The three humans were male, and in heavy plate armor – one of them them was in armor so shining it hurt to look at him, and he carried himself with a superior air about him.

One night elf, also male, was dressed in white robes, and carried himself with a step so even it was like he floated over the grass. Tagging along behind them was a much younger-looking female night elf, clad in leather with a staff almost bigger than she was strapped to her back – even from here he could tell she seemed a lot...smaller, than one of her kind should be. Brock came to a small rise and paused, sitting to watch them walk. The female was obviously being ignored by her travel companions, and was walking silently at the rear of the group, scuffing her boots in the dirt as she went. He imagined her size must be indicative of her age, and thought she must be very young.

He watched them – they seemingly unaware of him – and waited for some minutes as they continued along their way. Inwardly, he thought he should feel alarmed, but...there was something about this group, a feeling, that made the tauren think it would be best to leave them to their own business. After a bit longer Brock stood and sought the water he could hear nearby, thinking to refill his water skin with fresh water, and maybe indulge himself in a bit of swimming after all.

He bent down at the pool of water he located in a ring of trees, dabbling his hands in the cool spring, listening to the soft gurgling of water that bubbled in the center of the pool. Idly, he licked a finger, then stiffened when he heard the sound of something - no, multiple somethings - approaching.

They appeared on the other side of the pool, the humans and the night elves, the party he'd watched walking away. They must have heard the water too, or spied the greenness of the oasis; they stood there staring at one another warily, the one group standing and Brock kneeling. Slowly, Brock raised his hands to show his war hammer was strapped to his back and that he was otherwise unarmed. His snout twitched curiously when one of the humans put a hand on his sword pommel and started forward, but was stopped by the female elf putting her hand on his arm to restrain him, then silencing him with a curt shake of the head when he turned around to protest. He slapped her hand away, scowling when she shook her head again. Ignoring him now, she bent and drank from cupped hands, then stood and gave the tauren a calm, and almost friendly, wave.

Uncertain, he waved back. She exaggerated grabbing the arms of her fellows and pulled them away from the pool and out of sight. Brock shifted and sat down, rubbing a finger down a horn...what an odd little elf – what a young little elf, he then corrected himself, as he fully thought over the size difference between her and her companions. He knew the night elves tended to tower over the races of the Alliance, yet this one had stood almost even with the human males; so small, she must be young...especially if she was so willing to peacefully retreat from what she must have considered the tauren's own oasis.

The day passed on with Brock finding the useful beasts he was hoping for, and as the sun was setting he found himself heading back to the oasis with the intent to set up his camp there. He had the meat he'd taken wrapped in the carefully removed skins of his kills, and he thought perhaps he would be best served to just head home despite the long walk when he heard a rustling in the underbrush ahead along with a familiar grunted word. His keen hearing could pick out the sounds of what he believed to be centaur – common sights at the oasis areas that dotted the Barrens, and something Brock didn't consider to be too much of a threat being as the creatures tended to hunt only in twos or threes.

Belatedly he realized, when he was ringed in by at least twenty of the blasted things, that centaurs sometimes hunted in bigger groups.

He stopped where he stood and let the skins and meat in his hands fall to the ground, eying his enemies, looking for a weak link in the circle around him. He spied a likely target just as they charged; Brock lowered his head and charged as well, swatting aside a scrawny little centaur with one sweep of his hammer and charging out into the trees blindly. It was dark now and visibility was low, even with his superior vision even in the dark. For now, the tauren crashed through the underbrush and sought the open area of the Barrens that surrounded this oasis.

He sighed inwardly when he heard a creature coming at him from somewhere ahead of him...today was not his day. He readied his hammer and was bowled over by something heavy and furry, landing on his back with a grunt. His hands scrabbled in the dirt above his head for his dropped hammer, and was utterly surprised to find himself nose to nose with...a wild cat?

Bright yellow eyes blinked at him in surprise, then glanced up at the approaching mob and Brock watched those eyes widen. A spear came flying their direction and hit the cat, knocking it off his chest. It rolled, changing as it went, until it came to a stop against a tree trunk and suddenly wasn't furry anymore. One rather startled night elf - the female from before - sat up and called something to the wind. She stood and repeated her cry, shouting the same things over and over.

'Calling for her allies, perhaps...' Brock thought, hauling himself to his feet - the fastest thing he'd done all day - and turning to crush a centaur in two as the mob rushed him. Things quickly degenerated into chaos, Brock occasionally being blinded by bright light from the heavens whenever the druid cast a spell.

His life now revolving around swinging a hammer, Brock almost took the human warriors off their feet as they came in from behind the mob. He backed up so he wouldn't chance hitting them; after all, they'd done nothing to him and despite them having come to the druid's aid, they were still assisting him as well.

A few moments was all it took for them to clear the area of fleeing centaurs, which once again left an uncomfortable silence between the lone tauren and the adventuring group. Brock dropped to his knees to quickly search the bodies nearest him, more to have something to stare at that wasn't a group of possible hostile Alliance members than it was to actually check to be certain the centaur were truly dead.

The group were having heated words...well, the female and the humans were arguing. She pointed and chattered on in what had to be Common, or perhaps it was her own tongue, and the two males waved her away and began arguing over whatever it was they were arguing about amongst themselves with the female seemingly dismissed, ignored, and forgotten quickly. The male night elf murmured something, but was also ignored. He shrugged at the girl and went silent once more, the girl sighing heavily and scuffing a boot toe in the dirt.

Using a scrap of linen tugged from a pocket to dab sweat off his forehead, Brock turned and left, hoping to recover the skins he'd left behind, and then perhaps get a few hours of rest before returning home. Finding the pool again, he set about finding his discarded skins and then setting his camp back up. They'd cleared out enough centaurs that he doubted he see more if he stayed here a week, though why there were so many he couldn't begin to guess at.

Brock did indeed stay longer than he had originally planned, sticking around an extra four days. Loaded down with an assortment of cured hides and leathers that he could now use in his leather working, along with smoked meats that would last him weeks, his thoughts turned to home, of his little hut nestled between two hills and a river. Cheerfully, he let his plodding steps take him homeward into the grassy plains. A lovely breeze was blowing, carrying the scent of flowers, the curious spicy scent of trampled grass, the sounds of insects.

And the smell of blood.

Nose twitching at the coppery smell, Brock turned east, into the wind, and hurried his pace. There was precious little out the Barrens, but if a predator had left a kill for any reason at all...

A moment later, his eyes were gazing at an distasteful sight. It was the adventuring group again, beset by a much larger group of Horde. Brock could count six orcs, a few trolls, and one undead magic user. One troll had the look of a shaman, but the rest were armed to the teeth and ringing the adventurers, or what was left of them.

One human was face-down in the grass, obviously dead. The man in the shining armor, his hands glowing with a sort glowing light, was covered in bright red streaks, his face was strained, and the swings of his hammer were growing slower. The night elf male was nowhere to be seen, and the remaining human had enough arrows in him to make him look like a relative of a pincushion. The petite little druid female was managing to keep most of her attackers at bay, the range of her staff being much more than the range of any of the swords or even the spears being thrust at her.

The pincushioned warrior finally fell, a spear through his gut.

The golden man shouted when his weapon fell apart in his hands, then with a brief gesture was covered in a bubble of golden light. Reaching into a pouch on his belt, he grabbed at something and Brock caught the flash of something bright purple and arcane, and then the human was gone with only a faint scorch mark in the grass to mark where he'd stood.

Panicked, the female had reached for the paladin and grasped only empty air as the human made his escape. Her lapse in concentration was enough that an orc rushed up behind her and bashed her over the head with his shield. Brock winced, watching as she hit the ground hard enough that she bounced. Laughing nastily, the orc that had struck her grabbed her wrists and lifted her from the ground, kicking her staff into the crowd of onlookers.

Brock could hear their voices on the wind as they prodded and jabbed at the struggling elf.

"Well now, she's feisty!"

"What should we do with her?"

"Oh, I can think of a few things...hehe..."

"Think elf tastes any different from wolf?"

"Only one way to find out."

The shaman, a troll named Numskull that Brock had seen on occasion, stepped forward. "Get some fun outta' her, but leave an'ting useful ta me." With that, he reached up and yanked off a pendant she wore around her neck, yelping and falling to his knees as she kicked hard and caught him in the groin, then delivered another kick to his face. Numskull sprawled out flat on his back, then curled to a fetal position, his fellows howling in laughter around him.

With her held up, and with the bright sun of the day, Brock got his first good look at the night elf he'd had the luck (or was it?) of running into a few times those couple of days ago. Her armor was light leather, dyed a dark forest green that matched hair pulled back into a ponytail high on her head. Vivid red tattoos, jagged lines that reminded him of lightning, started just below her sizable eyebrows, continued over her eyelids and cheeks, and ended just short of her chin. Her skin tone was a soft purple-blue hue, now covered in sweat and blood-streaked dust. Eyes were glowing angrily yellow at her captors. Brock supposed that, for her species, she'd be considered quite pretty, if still so young...

Feeling himself quite disgusted by the crude jokes and comments of the others, the tauren turned to leave...then sighed heavily. His conscience was nagging at him. The female had kept those humans from attacking and likely killing him; according to his conscience, he owed her at least an attempt to help.

He rubbed his temples, squeezing his eyes shut. How to do this...he was outnumbered, and even had the female's group not been killed (or in the one case, abandoned her to her fate) they would still have been hard-pressed to defend themselves. What could one tauren do here?

He rubbed his fingers vigorously in his eyes, and then opened them in time to see the warlock cast a spell that sent the elf into spasms of pain.

Whatever he chose to do, he could not stand by and watch a helpless creature be tormented for sport.

Shaking his head against the folly of it all, Brock cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Hey, you down there!"

In unison everyone turned to look, except for the elf who was still writhing in pain.

"Put her down."

Numskull blinked, an incredulous look on his face. "Wat you jus' say?"

"You heard me, put her down."

"Get out of here, cow, before you get hurt," one of the orcs shouted, drawing laughter from many in the group. Numskull waved a hand at him in dismissal, then returned to discussing new, fun ways of inflicting pain with the warlock.

"I don't like being ignored," Brock called, in his mind giving them their final warning. When another of the trolls flashed him a very rude hand gesture, Brock's snout twitched. That, if anything, made up what little doubts he had about the brilliance of this rescue idea.

He lowered his head and backed up, shifting his center of gravity, and then started in a trot. The trot got faster and faster, until he was charging at top speed. He bellowed as he came on, once again catching the attention of the torturers. More than one mouth dropped in surprise and alarm, and the group scattered like leaves in the wind; when several hundred pounds of charging bovine came at you, you MOVED.

The night elf crumpled to the ground and curled up as the orc holding her dove out of Brock's path. As Brock passed him, Numskull received an arm to the throat which, Brock assumed, at the speed the tauren was traveling must have been like catching half a mountain on your head; the shaman fell over with a grunt, eyes crossed. One troll stood his ground, thinking to stand the charge. Brock left a hoof print on his face.

He turned, bent, and scooped up the limp form of the elf and kept running, the crowd behind him milling about in confusion...should they tend to their fallen fellows or chase Brock? Could they even catch him now? Brock doubted it. He'd proven he could run faster than most in his childhood, and it had stayed with him into adulthood – he was very swift, and the group he'd left behind were still in a state of surprise.

He then winced as his back caught fire; it would seem he was out of everyone's range but the warlock's, but to his relief he was only hit once before he was too far from the spellcaster. He shifted his grip on the elf, and after running to the point he was actually panting, slowed to his usual plodding. Whatever spell the warlock had cast on her seemed to be wearing off, he could feel her muscles loosening; gently, but with some effort, he slung her over a shoulder as he came to the first of the hills that led to his hut.

Wondering how far he was from home, he nearly toppled over a hilltop and into the river; apparently he was closer than he thought. In his blind charge, he must have traveled over the first of the hilly region without noticing. He was mildly surprised with himself, for he'd just sprinted what took him two days to cross at his slow, plodding, and meandering pace; inwardly he was pleased, and his step lightened...well, lightened for a tauren.

His hut was dark and cool inside, and Brock decided against a fire. He didn't want to risk that group finding him by following the telltale signs of smoke rising. Carefully, he arranged the elf on the pallet in the corner where he himself normally slept. Watching, he saw her chest rise and fall; good. With his wild sprint, he hadn't been able to check to see if she'd survived whatever nasty spell the warlock had cast on her, and with her so limp after the effect had worn off he'd been worried.

The tauren scratched between his ears, letting out a sigh. Deciding whatever came next was up to her, he headed outside to begin the work of cutting and stretching, and layering, hides for the armor he intended to finish.


	2. Chapter 2

The first day, he was relieved he had gotten her to safety. The second day, he was minutely worried, but understanding...there was no telling what that warlock had cast on her, he couldn't expect her to recover in a day. The third day, he was a touch more worried - she hadn't even stirred from the position he'd set her down in. The fourth day he checked to be sure she was actually still breathing.

On the fifth day he was wondering if she hadn't slipped into the Emerald Dream, as it was rumored druids could do; had her spirit gone walking, while her physical body remained with him? He was sitting in the doorway musing over how he could possibly tell if she had, making neat little stitches in a pantsleg, when he heard a sharp intake of breath and the shifting of blankets. He blinked rapidly to clear his sight as he turned to look into the dim hut. Vaguely, Brock could make out the hunched figure of the groggy night elf, pulling herself slowly into a sitting position. The tauren set aside his leathers and watched her, watched the uneasiness cross her face as she became aware of her surroundings. Her eyes were glowing faintly as they finally focused on him in the doorway, and he saw her draw her knees to her chest and shrink back into the corner.

He patted the air, hoping that she wouldn't take it as a threatening gesture; he'd kept her alive this long, and unless she was expecting him to torture her, she really had no reason to fear him. Carefully he moved inside, going to a small chest in the floor near the area he reserved for cooking, pulling out a water skin and a loaf of bread, which he sat near the pallet and then moved away. One of her hands slid out and grabbed the water, and she sniffed at it before taking a gulp and then sipping at it carefully. Brock turned to retrieve the partially-completed pants from where he had left them, when a filthy and two-toed foot slammed down onto them.

"Mornin', cow," Numskull sneered at him.

Brock sighed and straightened, gazing calmly at the troll. He was a bit worried that he hadn't heard the other's approaching footsteps, but knew better than to show any form of worry to a predator-type like Numskull. "Good morning to you. Remove your foot from those pants, I'd like to finish them."

The troll instead ground his foot into them, snarling. "Ya did a stupid ting, ya know."

Brock sighed at the implied threat and moved aside as the troll suddenly surged passed him and into the hut, one hand inching for the war hammer sitting just inside the door. Looking passed him, Brock wasn't too terribly surprised to see that the elf - and all signs of her - had vanished. The pallet's blankets were neatly folded, the bread and the water was gone, and of course the female was nowhere to be seen. Mumbling something darkly, the troll shoved his way back outside, standing once again on the pants Brock had requested he remove his feet from.

"It went against my character to let something so helpless remain in the clutches of cruelty." Brock reached out, grabbed a handful of the thick, bristly hair atop Numskull's head, and easily swung him off his feet and away from the leathers. The tauren thumped the troll down, back onto his feet, then stooped to pick up the pants, frowning when he saw his needle was missing and hoping faintly that it was now embedded in the troll's foot. "Is there a reason you're here, or are you determined to make my peaceful life miserable?"

"Jus' wanted ta leave ya with a tought," Numskull growled, rubbing his smarting scalp and patting his hair back into place. "We be searchin' for da elf, and when we find her, we kill her." The shaman threw something to Brock, who caught it and turned it over in his hands.

"And this is?"

Numskull turned to leave. "Her pack. I bring ya her head to put innit."

Laughing nastily, the troll disappeared over the hills.

Brock blew out a breath that vaguely sounded like a soft 'mooo' and went back inside, dusting off the pants and mentally griping about the loss of the needle. He was halfway across the tiny space in the hut, going to investigate possible places the elf could have gone - could elves teleport? Brock knew very little about druidic magic specifics - when he bumped into something solid with his snout.

Backing up, rubbing his nose - it felt like he'd whacked himself in the snooter with the handle of his hammer - he blinked as a pair of yellow eyes appeared in midair, followed by the rest of an elven body. He'd headbutted an invisible night elf female, hanging from the rafters of his hut...now there was a thought that was truly bizarre to think.

The tauren chuckled as the female finished lowering herself from the ceiling, the bread and water skin balanced on her stomach next to a pair of boots. She'd clung to the rafters, managing to be above Numskull's head but not Brock's; what an odd little elf. He waited until she'd put her boots back on, then held her backpack out to her. She took it and rummaged through its contents, frowning slightly, then turned it upside down to shake it.

A canteen, dried fish and meat, and some bandages fell out. She sighed heavily, staring at it before sweeping it back into the backpack. After a moment, she looked up at Brock and, with hand gestures, eventually got it across that she was missing coin and a dagger.

Moneyless and also weaponless...a bad combination in these parts for Horde and Alliance alike, and especially if this elf was as young as her stature kept leading him to believe.

To tell the truth, Brock didn't have much money either, but... He shuffled over and began to rummage through his little chest, eventually coming up with a small dagger he generally used for cutting vegetables and meat. Slowly, he offered it hilt-first to the elf, and she just as carefully took it and weighted it on one slim finger. It was a dinky little thing, probably would take forever to kill anything with it, but at least now she wasn't totally weaponless.

"Now what do I do with you..." he mused out loud, rubbing a horn tip as he thought.

With Numskull and his cronies out searching, he could hardly let the elf continue back to Alliance territory on her own, but Brock was a relatively odd tauren in that he was stubbornly solitary and avoided even his own kind – as such, he had no idea where shared territory was, if there even was any true neutral ground on Kalimdor. He even pulled down a worn map from the wall, one that was years old and probably horribly out of date, and spread it so they both could see. There, scrawled in by Brock's own hand, were the more detailed...well, details from the land the bovine had covered on his own...all Horde territory so far as he knew, and even then all very far from any major town.

She studied his map a moment, then mimed a request for something to write with. Brock retrieved one of his sharpened charcoal sticks and handed it to her and, slowly, she began to fill in a thin strip of map - the territory she'd walked through in getting to Brock's area, he assumed. At the end of the path she'd drawn, she widened her sketches - a harbor, Brock noted. Carefully, there beside the image of a ship, she drew the Horde insignia and the Alliance insignia. Shared territory, then, or at least somewhere that was neutral to both factions.

Brock could simply escort her back the way she'd come, but the longer he thought about it, the more probable an unfortunate thought he had seemed. After several minutes of hand gestures and grunts, the two managed to work out the fact that the elf had been carrying a map in her pack, and that map was gone along with her other things.

He sighed...Numskull would likely know the exact route she'd taken, and would probably be prowling that length of land until he caught sight of her. They would be especially diligent in looking for their supposed plaything, and Brock knew that the two of them wouldn't have such luck again as he'd had in snatching her from her tormentors as he had initially.

Carefully, he grabbed her wrist, then pointed to himself, then to her, then tapped the harbor she'd drawn on the map. He would take her to that harbor. Sliding the map to him, Brock took another charcoal and marked an X on the map, where his hut was, then lightly drew an arrow circling far to the west and south, approaching the harbor from the coastline.

And that would be how he'd get her there.

She studied the map in silence, then nodded slowly in understanding...then slipped over sideways, one large arm of the tauren reaching out to catch her. He stared at her in amazement when she didn't pull away – the elf was soundly asleep, draped over his arm.

Brock rubbed his horn tip again, then deposited her back into his bed.

Odd little elf...


	3. Chapter 3

His odd little elf, as he found himself mentally referring to her, had surprised him the following morning by appearing quite naked outside his hut, just briefly enough to dive into the little stream beside it. He had retreated back inside quickly to give the elf some privacy to bathe, and had taken that moment to look over the map once more.

In those few trips he made yearly into outposts and cities, he had heard of neutral ports and none of the stories he knew were good. Duels, a fancy word for brawls, broke out constantly and you were quickly picked off once defeated; any sign of weakness would mark you a likely target. A goblin passing through once told him that Horde and Alliance alike were hard-pressed to keep the bodies of their faction from clogging the gutters on a daily basis, and that the goblin bouncers that kept order in the neutral cities generally had their hands full with all manner of miscreants and troublemakers from either faction.

"Surprised there's any of either side left," he'd commented, before selling Brock a bundle of skins and some new shears.

Hopefully, those were just stories.

Getting her onto a boat back to her own territory was going to be a challenge, never mind GETTING her to the dock...that in itself would be near impossible with Numskull and his goons prowling about. Brock had doubts he could get her there without running into them at least once, and that was if they were extremely lucky.

His musings were interrupted as she entered, smelling faintly of fish and silt, braiding her wet hair out of her face. Brock reached behind him, to his storage chest, and pulled out a simple cloth bag full of apples and offered her one. She nibbled as Brock walked about the small hut, preparing to leave. He filled waterskins and gave one to the elf, along with a few small loaves of hard bread, meant to last on the road; the tauren was the only one who packed bandages and a bed roll, the female having refused to take either but helping him to pack their travel rations into their respective bags. After a few moments, Brock gestured that they step outside and, once they were, untied the heavy cloth curtain that served as his door and watched as it swung into place; there was little of value within his hut – he tended to use everything he acquired immediately, and the tiny bit of coin he possessed for his trips into outposts was secured to his belt in a small pouch, so there was little reason to worry about theft.

With no fanfare the two struck out, leaving Brock's home by the water behind them. The yellow grass of the plains was dry and tall enough to tickle the base of Brock's tail, and stretched out in every direction as far as they could see. Flat and boring in the tauren's opinion – he didn't used to think so, but then he'd caught sight of the night elven forests to the far north and had decided they were far more interesting than the Barrens ever would be.

The elf seemed right at home after a while; she had at first trudged along beside him, then eventually her pace slowed as she began to examine insect life, slowly falling behind him. Then, a dark-furred, long-eared cat came bounding passed him, batting at a large grass moth. Her prancing told him that, as far as elves go, this one was indeed very young...from what he had heard about the night elves, most of them of any considerable age tended to act as though they had one of their majestic, towering trees firmly lodged up their backside.

He let her frolic, watching as she bounced and pranced around him like a kitten; on these flat plains, they'd see anyone coming long before they were within spell range, and so he wasn't quite so concerned about her attracting attention with her movement.

Brock was abruptly corrected when a bolt of frost appeared from thin air and blew the elf completely off her feet. Invisibility spell either broken or dismissed, a Forsaken was fading into view only a few paces ahead of them. Brock charged, almost knocking the mage from his feet and interrupting the spell he was about to cast.

"Ooooooooh not goooooood," the mage yelped in his strangely velvety and moist voice, shouting a single word of magic and scrambling away. Brock suddenly found himself frozen to the ground from hoof to mid-calf, and he snorted loudly.

"Coward spellcaster...and a cross-dresser at that," he bellowed, kicking and yanking one hoof out of the ice at his feet.

"These are ROBES," the mage retorted, "latest fashion in the magic-user world."

"Looks like something my Auntie Featherwind would wear." Brock stomped, shattering ice and charging again, his hammer whipping in to send the mage flying with a loud crack. Both males looked down to see the undead's arm sitting on the ground between them.

"Hey, I need that! Do you have any idea how difficult an existence one leads when their body is so delicate?" the other yowled, casting rapidly one-armed.

Brock took a step, then tripped as the mage's spell fired; the tauren went to stand, then found the ground was suddenly a lot closer to his nose, and when he reached a hand out for his fallen war hammer he found himself tilting to one side awkwardly. He craned his neck and his eyes widened when he saw a stubby little tail wagging on his rear.

"Baaaaah!"

The undead picked up his arm and was jamming it back onto his shoulder when he was taken by surprise by the charging druid. A bear the same size as Brock bowled the mage over, robes and limbs flying all akimbo and the as of yet unattached arm clattering to the ground, a few fingers snapping off. The mage landed in an undignified heap, his bony rump sticking into the air; beyond him, the druid rapidly changed from a bear to that large wildcat Brock had seen before and whacked the undead with a paw that sent him rolling along on the ground. Springing lightly over the bewildered mage, the elf rushed over and seized Brock by a mouthful of wool at his scruff.

Brock couldn't help but let out little bleats as he was jolted and shaken as the druid sprinted away with him held in her mouth, and he was immediately suspicious of the persons who seemed to admire the "grace" of a large cat running. If this was grace, then he would hate to see what sort of bone-jarring, teeth-chattering ride he would be taking if this druid was a klutz.

She tripped then, going into a roll to avoid crushing him, then releasing him as something hit her in the midsection. Brock flew, bounced, then found himself nose to tusk with a rather surprised male troll, who had up until that moment appeared to have been napping peacefully in the tall grass.

"We be unner attack!" he yelped, bolting upright and sending Brock flying again.

The second bouncing trip broke the mage's spell, and the troll sputtered as he suddenly found himself armed with a dagger facing a full-grown tauren.

"Get tha moocow!" he shouted, seemingly to no one as no one appeared to be near, dropping his knife and scooting backwards, attempting to string a bow and draw a sword at the same time, both being strapped to his back.

"Who are you calling cow?" Brock snapped, more concerned with finding the mage. He instead saw the night elf batting a squealing boar around, seeming more interested in convincing it not to attack her than in doing it any harm.

"Aaaiee! Call off yer puss!" the troll shouted, beating at Brock with his unstrung bow.

Brock received a solid whack between his ears. "Ow! Stop tha-" he cut off as a fireball blasted between them, singeing Brock's snout and setting the troll's pants on fire.

The troll dropped and sat on his flaming pants. "Yow! Magey!"

"No, really?" Brock snapped, turning and charging.

The mage, now realizing that he faced twice as many foes as before, turned and winked from view, reappearing several yards away and out of Brock's range.

The troll had finally gotten his bow strung, and took careful aim; the mage took the hunter's parting shot right in the ass before disappearing entirely.

Brock watched him go. "Running off to Numskull, I'd wager..." he growled. He plodded forward until he found his warhammer, then returned to where he'd left the troll and his little elf.

He found the troll aiming another arrow at him when he came back.

"Get ya puss off me piggy, mon," he said, glaring.

"My what off your...oh," Brock said, looking over to see the druid stretched out on top of the boar. She yawned at him and batted at the boar's tail, the animal squealing and squirming beneath her weight.

"Move, please?" Brock asked, waving his arms.

She cocked her head to the side, then rolled off. The boar scampered to the troll, angrily grunting and squealing.

"Ah, there's a good Stinky, who be a good piggy?" the hunter soothed his pet, then brought his bow up again. "Now den. Who be ya?"

"I'm Brock Windstomp," the tauren replied cooly, hefting his hammer. "Get that out of my face."

"Don't ya be tellin' me what to do, mon," the troll snapped. "Ya come through me field and step on me, den have da nerve to tell me to git me bow out o' ya face?"

"Look, I don't have time for this. That mage was likely a minion of Numskull's, and now they'll be heading this way," Brock sighed. "I haven't the patience to deal with you, either."

The troll spat on the ground and hissed. "Bah, Numskull. Bad bit o' mojo if I ever smelled it, mon. Why he be after ya?"

Brock gestured to the druid, still in feline form. "Not me, her."

"Her? Ya pet?" the troll asked, looking puzzled. "What Numskull be wantin' a puss for?"

"No, she's not my pet," Brock chuckled. "It's a long story."

"I be havin the time, mon," came the reply. "Numskull be no friend o' mine. Wishin' it be his ass I be plantin' dat arrow into."

Brock studied him a moment, sizing the troll up. They could be fearsome foes in battle, but he and the druid outnumbered this hunter, and...so far as Brock was concerned, anyone who disliked Numskull could be a potential ally.

It took little time to explain and the troll rubbed his bristly head, humming, as the tauren finished. "I see, mon...so he be wantin' to kill. We can't be havin dat." He unstrung his bow and put his arrow away, plopping down into the grass cross-legged. "Numskull be a'terrorizin dees parts for years, be nice ta see 'im lose out for once, mon."

Brock nodded slowly, still eying him cautiously. "Why are you not calling for the elf's head yourself? Your kind have little love for them."

"Ya be surprised about dat, mon. Where ya be goin'?"

"I'm trying to get her to neutral territory. I'm sure he won't dare attack her amongst her own faction, or at least amongst the goblins who control such ports."

"Ah, den ya be wantin' to get her to Ratchat."

"Ratchat?"

"Raaaaachaaaaat," the troll said, frowning when Brock still looked at him blankly. "Ah, a country moo ya be."

"I'm not a moo, I'm not a moocow, ceased calling me by such names" Brock snorted. "And you never gave your name."

"Ah, sorry," the troll said, dusting his hands off before offering one to the tauren. "I be Kakum. What be the name o' ya elfie?"

Brock shook the hand, shrugging. "I don't know. I don't speak her tongue."

"I see. Well, ya be in luck cuz I do."

The tauren looked surprised. "You? Speak elven?"

Kakum nodded. "Me clan - what be left o dem- always friendly ta elfies, alliance in general. We part o' da Horde, dat true, but open fightin', dat don' help no one. We be civil, we be friendly. My clan, we trade with da elfies, learn da speech."

The troll turned, cleared his throat loudly, and caught the druid's attention. With her looking on, he clearly smiled wide and said "_hello_" in her elven tongue.

The elf, who had been dozily staring at him, jerked upright, startling Stinky the boar who had been napping nearby. She stared at Kakum now, ears twitching and settling her feet like she was going to pounce.

"_Now now, no jumping on me_," he said, nodding. The night elven language sounded odd coming from him, his accent making the words sound bizarre but still understandable.

She melted into her elf form, tilting her head to the side. "_I can understand you. Strange, coming from a troll_."

"_Yeah yeah, we're just full of surprises_," Kakum replied dryly.

"_Where did you learn? Who taught you?"_

"_Doraen Oakmoon_," he said lightly. "_His family traded with my clan often, taught me when I was a young one_."

She smiled, though it was guarded. "_I am so relieved I can communicate now...that tauren looks so silly waving his arms at me all the time, the poor thing."_

"_His name is Brock Windstomp, and I'm Kakum. What's your name_?"

"_Saliea Silvermist_."

"_Mind if I call you Sal?_"

"_Not at all. It's better than being called 'elf' constantly. I know that much of tauren by now. Though, I can't honestly blame him and I'm grateful for all he's done for me_." She tilted her head as she looked at him. "_You realize I of course do not trust either of you?"_

"_I didn't figure you did, the Horde isn't exactly known for politeness. But, we'll get you to your own. That's what the tauren intended to do when you two ran into me, and being as I don't like the stinking troll chasing you, I'm willing to help if only to get him out of my stomping grounds_."

Brock was sitting, completely lost in the conversation, listening to the exchange, and jumped when Kakum finally addressed him.

"So, she say her name be Saliaayah...Saliiiayyeh...we be callin' her Sal," Kakum said, obviously having difficulty pronouncing the elven name. "Elven names, mon, why dey need so many letters in 'em?"

"She also be sayin' she be grateful for ya help," he went on, pausing as the elf hopped to her feet.

"_Before we travel anywhere, now that I have a means of communication, I would like to make a request._"

"_Er, a request_?" Kakum gave Brock a questioning look, which the tauren returned – Brock, of course, had no idea what was just said.

"_I traveled here with a group of others. One of them was my brother, and he was captured shortly before I was. I would like to search for him_," she said firmly.

Kakum scratched his head. "Uh...she be wantin to search for her brudder?"

Brock rubbed his horn tips. "Ask her if he was the robed man I saw with their group?"

"_Was he the one in the robes?"_

She nodded rapidly. "_Yes. A priest dedicated to Elune – he and I were offered as a goodwill gesture from the druids, as a sort of escort for the three humans who wished to speak with the Druids of the Fang, within the Wailing Caverns. While we believed the humans' trip to be a bad idea, as the Druids of the Fang are known to be quite unbalanced and violent, there were others curious to see if their madness had been contained within the caverns without spreading to the centaur, or even the tauren, outside of it. My brother and I were explained as a diplomatic face to present to the druids, when in fact we were merely meant to observe them."_

"_Hold on hold on. Tell me exactly what happened and where this brother of yours went missing. Talk slowly, so I can translate as we go along_."

She sat back down. _"As I said, three humans approached the druids in Darnassus, seeking advice on how best to approach the Druids of the Fang – one of them desired something they possessed, a weapon of some sort, and he was thinking he could trade for it. The druids in Darnassus knew of the Druids of the Fang and their corruption, and knew that those they had sent to observe them had disappeared...they desired to know if they had been killed, or had fallen to the madness that had taken the Fang druids. My brother and I were selected, under the premise of being a night elven face to present to the Fang in a diplomatic manner. In truth, we had been tasked with finding where the previous observers had gone. We had gone to the Wailing Caverns and were driven off by the violent druids – it is not so hard to guess the previous observers sent are now dead – and as we fled the caverns, that is when this Numskull troll attacked us. We ran, as we were outnumbered on all fronts, and it was some time before I noticed my brother was gone, and that he must have been taken in that first ambush by Numskull..."_ she trailed off, drawing in the dirt with a finger. "_I don't think my brother is dead, not yet."_

Kakum fell silent as he finished translating for Brock. The tauren rubbed his snout thoughtfully.

"It's not that I don't want to help...but if she doesn't know exactly when he was taken _where_ her brother was dragged to, he could be anywhere by now," he said slowly.

Kakum twitched mightily. "Ooo, me tusks be tinglin'...trouble be headin' dis way, mon."

Brock nodded. "We should probably get moving. If that mage told Numskull where we're at, we're likely to be attacked again."

The tauren stood and gestured for the elf to do the same. "We'll be on our way."

"Not wit-out me, ya not," Kakum said, hopping up too.

"You don't have to, this has nothing to do with you. All I ask is you forget you saw us...why get involved?" Brock asked, puzzled.

The hunter shrugged, then grinned. "A few reasons. One, I don't be likin' Numskull. Two, ya be needin a translader. Tree, I be bored, mon."

Brock chuckled. "Well, if you insist on coming I don't see how I could stop you."

"Dat be right," Kakum said, nodding. He poked Stinky awake, then retrieved the dagger he had dropped in the fight earlier. "Ya leed da way."

"I just wish I knew where I was going. In that scramble to get away, I'm not sure where we are in relation to the port, and if we're detouring to find the other elf...I don't even know where to begin," Brock said.

"Ah, ya, dat be a problem..."

"_Sal, do you remember the way back to where you lost your brother?"_

"_I'm...not sure, but I could try to find it again. Do you not have a map, or some idea of where we are?_"

"_No, I don't use maps. I go where I please_," Kakum said proudly.

She smiled. "_I'll do my best then to remember. The Barrens doesn't have many landmarks, but I do remember there were trees near an oasis_." She stared at him again. "_I thank you for being both friendly, and also willing to assist me."_

_"Nah, no problem. I'll do what I can to make Numskull look dumb any day."_

_"I think...that the easiest way to do this would be returning to Brock's home and going from there. If he can show me where he rescued me from the others, I may be able to find our way from there."_

Kakum nodded and passed that comment on to Brock.

"Well, yes...but now they know the elf is with me still, and waiting at my home would be an ideal place to set an ambush."

"Eh, so we go dat way, but not all da way. It be jus a general direction, yes? And beside, we can always use Stinky as our scout."

Their path decided, the elf shrank back into cat form and looked about, tail flicking from side to side, then set off back the way she and Brock had come, with Kakum and the tauren alert and following closely.


	4. Chapter 4

"_All right...as far as I can tell, our best bet will be for you to pose as my pet," _Kakum said. They crouched in a shallow ditch looking into The Crossroads. "_We'll need to keep you hidden from guards, and I can't be sure which way they patrol, and when."_

_ "Why do we need to even get this close?"_ Sal asked curiously, all but invisible at the troll's elbow.

_ "If we're going to be looking, and we don't know for how long, we're going to need a few supplies not easily obtained in the Barrens, like water and medical things," _ he answered. "_Better we get them now, before word gets out that a random elf druid is wandering the plains and puts all the guards on the lookout."_

Brock only understood about half the conversation; during the last three days of travel, Kakum had been teaching Brock Darnassian, and Sal Orcish. Now, the troll could speak in any language and both had a good chance of understanding him no matter which one he chose, so long as he kept his words and ideas simple in complexity. All the tauren really caught onto was the reason they had come to the Barrens, mainly for supplies...but Brock also hoped to learn more of Numskull's activities. They weren't the only ones in this area who held a grudge against that one, and while the guards wouldn't react well to seeing a night elf druid in their midst, some of the Crossroad's inhabitants might be persuaded to turn a blind eye and keep quiet, if they discovered her.

"No think will work," Sal said suddenly, in broken Orcish.

Kakum laughed and corrected her, patting her head between her pointy ears as she hunched over, obviously embarrassed at her poor attempt to speak. "Ah, no worries mon. It not be easy, an' sum words be soundin' da same too. I see human once, he mean say one ting, but accidentally he say insult instead. Da goblins, dey were pickin' him outta' dere walls for a week."

Sal shook in silent laughter, bitterly remembering the man - a paladin, no less - who'd left her to die not too long ago.

Raising from his hunched position, Kakum dusted his pants off and squared his shoulders. "All righty mon. Let's be goin'."

Sal trotted obediently at his side, Stinky the boar hidden in some scruffy foliage nearby, far enough from the road and town that no patrols should find him, but close enough that Kakum could call him if there was trouble and (hopefully) nothing wild and dangerous would eat him. Brock followed behind them, and to all appearances they were just another group coming in from whatever adventures had led them to leave home.

The guards at the gates eyed Kakum, their lower jaws stuck out at an angle to make their tusks look bigger than they were. Kakum waved at them with a casual air, playing his part of innocent hunter and hiding well the anxiety he actually felt. He hadn't liked the idea of leaving Sal alone outside the town, as even with her seemingly talented ability at hiding there would be no explaining her if she was somehow spotted...but walking with her into a town full of enemies wasn't exactly safe either; neither choice had seemed a particularly good one but, as he had mentioned when he first suggested the idea, at least if they were caught out the three of them would be together.

The sun was setting and flickering torches were being lit around the outpost perimeter and within the walls as well, casting odd flickering shadows against ground and buildings. Crouching in the dark under a tarp flap, a troll suddenly lurched out into view, calling.

"Eeeeyyyyy, Kakum!"

Kakum paused, turning to face him. "Ey, how ya doin' mon?" He gestured for Brock to follow and shuffled over to where the other troll had what appeared to be a fletcher's stall nestled against the wall of the building behind him, the stall being little more than strung up tarps tied to wall and wooden pegs driven into the ground.

"Doin' okay, business be slow sumtimes." The other scratched at his chin. "Hopin' to be getting home to de family for a visit soon."

Kakum nodded, tight-lipped a moment, before grinning widely. "Saaay, can ye cut me a good deal? Be needin arrows, and lemme see dem twigs you call bows, mon."

Sal watched silently from Kakum's side as the trolls began to banter back and forth in a friendly manner, assuming that at some point the two males had befriended each other. Where Kakum had greenish skin and wild red hair styled mostly standing straight out from his head, this other troll had light blue skin and no hair at all – from what she understood about troll clans, these two must not have been in the same one, and she was curious as to how they met and why they were friends: trolls weren't known, to night elves anyway, to be especially friendly to those that weren't clan members. Perhaps it was simply because they were now part of the Horde that these two had met...was it so easy to forget clan lines when ordered to? She studied them both, trying to look like a simple beast, and eventually decided she definitely liked trolls with hair better - this other male looked kind of...silly, especially with his tucks curling out and up, like they wanted to poke their owner in the eyes. Kakum's tusks, in comparison, were petite almost.

"So mon, ye got a new pet I be seein'," the hairless troll said then, bringing Sal out of her thoughts, peering at her. Sal did her best to seem like what she was pretending to be, an innocent pet of a hunter. She even let out a quiet purr when he reached out to give her a pat on the head and a rough scratch behind an ear.

"Ya mon. She be a pretty. Went all da' way to elf land f' her," Kakum said, a hint of pride in his voice. "She be a rare nigh'stalker, nasty lil' thing in da dark, mon."

"Bet her pelt be bringin' ya a fortune if ye ever get bored of her, mon," the other said, stroking down Sal's flank and tickling the end of her tail. His tone hinted at a darker purpose even as his hand wandered; he was sizing her up, possibly for a throw rug.

Resisting the urge to bite him, she irritably flicked her tail out of his reach, yawned widely in his face, then flopped down into the dirt by Kakum's heels, still striving to be 'simple beast' rather than 'irritated druid.'

"_Wonder what troll tastes like,"_ she growled quietly to Kakum, her innate druidic magic making her words seem to echo more in one's head than in the air around them.

The other troll looked closely at her, perhaps having been perceptive enough to possibly hear her after all. "She be makin' noise?"

Kakum waved a hand dismissively. "She be hungry. Sumtimes she be all stomach."

As the trolls continued talking, Sal sat patiently at Kakum's heels while they waited for the other to begin making the repairs to Kakum's bow, which had become chipped in their initial "meeting" and was in danger of cracking later.

Playing the part of the hunter's pet was difficult, as she wasn't sure how a regular animal's behavior changed when they bonded to their hunter; she was familiar with the process itself, as it was more of a binding of the spirit and druidic in nature, but as she would never bind an animal to herself, nor would she ever be bound to anyone else, she was left guessing as to how much intelligence was shared between master and companion. She managed to purr and look prideful when passersby stopped to pet and admire her, congratulating Kakum on his 'taming' of the 'exotic beast,' as that was simple to do and she felt that perhaps it was the right thing to do.

Brock settled on his haunches in an empty stretch of street nearby, leaning back against the hut behind him, as the trolls dragged on and on. After several moments, Kakum "ordered" Sal over to the tauren.

"Off with ye, mon. Keep da moocow company, stay out of da way and out o' trouble."

And so she padded over, plopping down with a yawn at Brock's side.

"He is taking his time," she muttered, turning it into a yawn, the orcish language rolling off her feline tongue with seeming ease.

Brock didn't look at her, reinforcing the idea of her being only a pet. "We'll be better off with his bow fixed, and besides...I know what he is doing."

"What's that?"

"He's talking and observing. You can learn much by just listening."

Sal nodded, pawing an ear in another effort to appear as a simple beast.

"If your brother is wandering anywhere, it's sure to be mentioned. Otherwise, we're off to the caverns to search."

After a few moments of silence he heard a quiet "thank you..."

The sounds reached Sal before Brock heard them. A distant rumbling, a muted clanking. Sal had cocked an ear, the only movement the drowsing druid made from her lounging position. Brock turned to the south, seeing a dust cloud rising. All around, people of all races were milling aimlessly, then-

"ALLIANCE!" someone screamed. Like a breaking dam, people sprang into action.

Guards rushed to the town borders, readying bows, swords, and spells.

"You there!" a passing orc shouted, pointing at Brock. "Stand and fight!"

"Damn it all," the tauren muttered, standing. Kakum chose that moment to rejoin them, a bulging sack slung over a shoulder.

"We cannot do this," Sal said in a rush. "I will not fight my own people."

"Yer own people be cutting ya iffn' ye stay here, 'huntar pet'," Kakum said, tossing Brock his hammer he retrieved from the sack. "We gotta disappear, quick like."

A scream told them the raiders were upon the town. Soon, the sounds of battle erupted in full, with battle cries from both sides barely heard above the din of crashing metal and exploding spells.

Sal melted to elf form, stood. She turned in time to see a night elf, mounted astride a gleaming white, snarling battle tiger, go down as an arrow found the slit in his helm.

"No...no..." she whispered. This should not...why were these Alliance here? They were very far from any Alliance outpost or even neutral port – no, this was purposeful, but why? Trembling, she suddenly bolted, running for the fight.

"Sal, stop!" Brock called, watching as she ripped a support pole from a vendor tent as she ran by, leaving the collapsing structure behind her as she dove into the midst of the fighting.

"Sumhow I knew an elf'd be da death o' me," Kakum muttered, hurrying after with Brock close on his heels.

"Stop! Stop this NOW!" they heard Sal shouting, both in Orcish and Common. Those near her who took heed simply stared in amazement and confusion. Horde and Alliance alike lowered weapons warily, a small circle forming around the shouting druid. An uneasy truce was slowly spreading through attackers and defenders as Brock shoved his way through the group with Kakum sitting on his shoulders. He hopped down and leveled his bow at nearby Horde defenders while Brock menaced the Alliance with a raised hammer.

"Explain your presence, now," Sal was snapping at the Alliance forces. "We are better than some simple raiding party, out for blood!"

"They're Horde, that's reason enough!" someone shouted.

An archer, an orc, behind Sal drew his bow, guessing the intent of that shout even if he couldn't understand it. She whirled on him, fixing the orc with a glare.

"They attack our home, and you defend them?" he grunted at her.

Her glare deepened. "Don't act innocent, the Horde are guilty of such acts too." She dropped the pole she carried, pointing at it. "If I can drop my weapon in peace, surely you can as well."

"Alliance scum," the orc spat. The bow shook as he drew it taunt.

"Lower. That. Bow," she said pointedly. After several tense moments, he growled and abruptly lowered it.

"Let me through! Move!"

Sal turned as a human male pushed his way through his forces, planting himself at the front of the raiders.

"Why have you stopped us? Who are you?" he snapped, his hands inching dangerously close to the swords attached to his belt.

"Who I am doesn't matter. I am ordering you to leave," Sal replied.

He snorted at her. "I'm Corporal Meyers, and I'm telling YOU to get out of our way."

Sal fished around in the neck of her shirt, then pulled out a shining insignia. "And I'm a Sergeant Major. I'm ordering you to explain yourself," she said, holding it high for all to see.

The man bristled. "Why should I? I do not take orders from night elves."

"When you turn to rank to intimidate, don't be surprised if the one you're trying to step on is of higher rank. Now, since you _have_ so kindly tried to outrank me, know that you are now being insubordinate by refusing my order. Why are you here?"

"...a paladin returned to us in Theramore and reported an attack and capture of his fellows. We are here to liberate them."

"Look around you Corporal. For every guard here, there are two of you. For every female, for every child, there are five. This place has no military backing. It is much like Goldshire back home. It is home, and hearth, not a barracks. I don't believe that the Alliance has sunk so low as to murder children alongside their parents. If you believe the captured men to be held here, you were misinformed. In fact, I am searching for them – the ones that live, anyhow. And I will do it without spilling further blood."

Even before she'd finished, he was waving a hand dismissively. "You're a fool if you believe these orcs had nothing to do with it. We were told the men went missing thanks to a _Horde _attack. Step aside, these orcs will eventually tell us the truth of the matter."

"There are more women and children here than warriors. This is a trading post, it isn't even well-guarded. I can assure you that the _sole survivor _of the ambush that paladin spoke of is not here. I'm ordering you to retreat. Now-" Sal said, cut short as Meyers gave the order to attack.

The first three Alliance fell, outlined in purple fire and blinded by beams of light from the heavens. Horde and Alliance alike were then scrambling away from one very, very angry bear.

In the midst of it all, Kakum and Brock found themselves on the defensive from both sides.

"A fine mess," Brock shouted, batting a human from his feet while simultaneously smashing his hammer through a spear thrust his way.

"Just be lookin' ta stay alive mon. We'll sort it out later," Kakum replied, whistling loudly through his tusks. Moments later, Stinky came barreling through the fighters, tossing people left and right like rag dolls.

Sal was doing her best to keep both sides apart, until Meyers was in front of her, his swords jabbing for her eyes. "Traitorous elf-"

One hand, now a bear paw, raked across his face, and then the other fell on him, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. The elf spared the groaning and bleeding human hardly a glance, then was blasted from her feet and backwards into the milling mob of Horde defenders by a magical bolt fired from somewhere far behind the Alliance raiders. She staggered to her feet, only to be hit again, and again, several more bolts following the first, all of them magically zipping through the crowd to find and batter the dazed druid.

She had one glimpse of Kakum and Brock fighting toward her, as both sides converged on her, before her vision darkened.

* * *

"Druid? Pretty elf? Are you awake?"

Head throbbing in time with the words, Sal let out a groan.

"Was that yes?"

Common. She was being spoken to in Common.

Slowly, she opened her eyes as her other senses awakened.

The ground below her felt damp and soft, the air smelled of smoke and sweat. Above her was a solid wooden roof, and slowly a human face moved into her field of vision.

It was a male, human, and quite handsome, her groggy mind was quick to point out. He had friendly blue eyes, and a face ringed with unkempt, shoulder-length black hair. His lips moved, and she finally realized it was him speaking to her.

"Are you okay?"

"Ow..."

A small smile crossed his features. "At least you're awake now. I was worried."

"Where..." Sal found talking hurt. Everything hurt, really.

"Orgrimmar. Or, more specifically, a prison in Orgrimmar," the male replied.

Slowly, every muscle protesting, Sal rolled to her side and sat up. "How did I get here?"

"I don't know. I only saw them bring you in. They actually put you down gently, for Horde, so I'm assuming you're someone somebody wants alive. Who are you?"

"Sal," she murmured, pressing the heels of her hands to her forehead. Orgrimmar! How would she find her brother now? Return to her family? And where was Kakum and Brock?

"Were any others brought in with me?" she asked.

"A troll and a tauren, but they were taken elsewhere. I'm Mikael, by the way."

Finally, feeling the throbbing in her head abating somewhat, she turned to face him fully...and immediately coughed and felt her face flush.

"Um. Why are you...?" she stuttered after a moment, her blush deepening.

Mikael was clad only in cloth pants; he was barefoot and bare-chested except for the thick ropes binding his right arm tightly to his side.

He used his free hand to pull his legs into a cross-legged position. "Why am I tied up and essentially naked? I'm bound to keep me from casting, and they took my clothing and armor to discourage any escape attempts. I need both hands to work my spells, and I wouldn't survive long out in the desert without any clothing. I'm right-handed as well, hence them binding that hand to further hinder me...though how they figured that out, I don't know. Probably just coincidence."

"You are...ah...very well-built for a caster," Sal said, feeling flustered and wincing as the sudden rush of blood to her head made it throb. "Are you a mage?"

"Warlock, actually," he answered, now turning a tad red himself.

More to keep from staring at him than to actually study her surroundings, Sal gazed around their prison. They were in a wooden cage - thickly barred, with the back half of the enclosure possessing wooden planks nailed to the bars - with two guards watching them from about eight yards away. The cage door was nearby, with a heavy padlock on it; in all, the prison was perhaps eight feet wide and twenty feet long, the ceiling hanging six feet above them. She and Mikael knelt in the approximate middle, the back half of the cage extending behind the human, dark except for the light of a single candle Sal could see, set into a holder that rested on a roughly-hewn wooden table near the back wall. Beneath her, a mat woven from reeds protected her mostly from the damp ground, Mikael sitting on an identical mat.

"It rained recently," he explained. "It is not normally this wet, I'm told."

"Why-" Sal abruptly broke off as a groan came from the back of their cage. In the dim light from the candle, almost directly below the candle itself, she now spied what she thought to be a blanketed figure, prone on the ground, shift slightly. "Who - or what - is back there?"

Eyes widening, Mikael awkwardly got to his feet. "With your arrival, I completely forgot he had fallen asleep finally."

Following him back, Sal saw the figure a bit more clearly; it was a decent-sized humanoid, too large for an orc and too small for a tauren. Perhaps it was a female tauren...? But then, Mikael had clearly said he'd forgotten 'he' had fallen asleep...

Mikael adjusted the blanket and pulled the candle closer, revealing a horned head and a face with four slender tendrils coming off the chin and jawline.

"What manner of creature is it?" she asked, more curious than alarmed.

It had two horns, a sloping and ridged forehead, a shock of white hair messily arranged on the thin pillow beneath its head. Its skin, from what she could see from the candle's dim light, was a handsome shade of cyan, and possessed an intriguing alien beauty. Its face, though, was twisted in pain and coated in sweat.

"His name is Sevei, and he called himself a draenei when he was still awake," Mikael said, free hand fumbling with a scrap of cloth that floated in a bowl of water. Sal took it from him, wringing it out and dabbing at the sweat that covered the draenei's face.

"Why is he feverish? What is wrong?"

"He was brought in with a deep sword gash, a clean enough cut but very deep. I suspect a few ribs are broken as well. I have been locked in here for nearly two weeks, he has been here just shy of a week and a half. During his stay, he's been fading in and out of consciousness, sometimes aware and sometimes delirious. I've tried caring for the wound the best I can, but I can only do so much with just one hand, and he is rarely awake long enough to help himself...he's tried, but he's weak. I don't think he has the focus to summon healing energies as he is now, and I can't help him," the warlock said somberly. "I worry. I fear I've only slowed the infection, not halted it. Those who bring food, and those who guard us, either don't care or don't speak any Common at all, so I've been unable to draw attention to the fact his condition is worsening."

Sal dipped the cloth and wrung it out, then waved it in the air to cool it and smoothed it over the fevered male's forehead. Something in his looks was bringing back memories of stories she'd been told, of wars and demons and danger. His appearance did little more than stir those memories, and she found she couldn't place where she had ever heard of any 'draenei' or of any creature that looked like him. Her head still throbbed, though...perhaps her mental clarity was compromised, in which case she should probably take it easy.

"I don't think I possess the focus needed to call my healing magic, either," Sal said softly, hands already moving to fold the blanket back. "But oerhaps with two working hands I can manage to do something for him, even if I can't muster the power to heal."

Sevei too was stripped to the waist, but his chest was covered in a bandage that ran from left shoulder to right hip. This she carefully peeled away, seeing that the infection had taken hold in the part of the cut just beneath his rib cage, and wincing as she saw the dark meat of his muscles revealed in the wound.

"He is well-muscled," she commented, "such a large chest likely saved him from a more serious injury." She flattened her palm against his chest, feeling that his heart still beat strong, and inwardly admiring the finely toned muscle. This was no regular man, but someone trained to battle; she recognized now that it truly had been the amount of muscle and bulk he possessed that had likely saved his life.

Mikael handed her a blanket. "It's clean, it's what I've been tearing bandages from."

She nodded and tore a strip from it, dabbing it in the water and beginning to gently clean the infected part of the gash; she could feel the feverish male twitch and jerk, mumbling, as he reacted to the pain even though Sal was being especially gentle. As she later neared finishing dressing the wound, he heaved beneath her and growled something unintelligible, one of his hands darting out and seizing her by a wrist, his eyes flying open. He gasped, panting as she winced from the intensity of his grip; she wasn't sure what, if anything, he was seeing beyond a fever dream, as he stared intently up into the darkness of the ceiling. After a moment, his hand fell limply back to his side, his eyes drooping shut, as he returned to his his fevered sleep.

Night was truly upon them by the time Sal pronounced the wound cleaned out as best as could be managed with just water. The guards by then had brought them a pitcher of water and bread, as well as another blanket and thin pillow for Sal. Mikael directed Sal in dragging their reed mats back to the tiny table with the candle and there they ate their plain dinner; once she had finished her supper, Sal took Sevei's bread and softened it in the water before attempting to convince the delirious male to eat some. He ate little before falling asleep once more.

"He responds well to you, at least," Mikael said, shuffling about against the back wall. Sal turned to see him dragging their mats into new positions, parallel with Sevei's, side by side.

"Nights tend to be chilly here, you'll be warmest between myself and Sevei," he explained.

She nodded quietly, rolling herself into her blanket, wincing as bruises she'd previously ignored while tending the draenei suddenly made themselves known.

"I had better not wake up to find you taking up more room than you're entitled to," Mikael chuckled, blowing out the candle and plunging them into total darkness. "But if you get cold, don't be afraid of uh...sharing my blanket."

"I'll remember that, and if you enjoy possessing fingers, you'll keep your hand to yourself until that time," Sal countered, smiling as she heard him snort in the dark.

Several moments passed before his breathing slowed and she knew he had drifted to sleep. The sounds of Orgrimmar pressed in around her then, and she knew sleep would not come easy. After laying on her back for awhile, she relented and sat up, deciding sleep would be impossible for the time being. She carefully shifted until she faced the door of their prison, observing as guards bearing torches came and went, relieving those standing watch.

Sal's eyes drifted down eventually, to the blanketed form of Sevei. She expected his fever would break soon, now that his wound was being cared for.

'I should have recovered enough by tomorrow to close the worst of it,' she thought, studying her hands as she flexed her fingers, sensing for that wellspring of magic and connection to the natural energies of the wilds within herself. It was totally depleted and the connection, while strong, wouldn't be enough to allow her to muster the amount of energies needed to close a wound of this magnitude. It would take her body some time to refill that void within her; time, and a lot of rest. As she thought about time, and about healing, she hoped that the raiders, after she had defeated their leader, had fled the battle soon there after, and that Brock and Kakum had not been injured. It had been such a pointless engagement...why had that paladin told them that his fellows were captured by the Horde? He couldn't not know that two of them were dead, at the least – he had willingly abandoned Saliea, and who knew if he was aware that her brother was gone, but...even still, he should have known the other two were dead, and not have lied about it.

The lie bothered her – it had led to unnecessary violence and bloodshed, but, more importantly, the nagging worry over her missing brother gnawed at her. Where was he? All she could clearly remember in the flight from Numskull and his band was the paladin abandoning them, leaving his friends dead at his feet, and Saliea to her own death as well; Sal remembered catching something to the back of her head, and from there her recollection of before and after became rather fuzzy, though instinctively she knew she hadn't lost consciousness. At some point her brother had been taken...but where, and when...

She jumped, suddenly, when a large hand covered both of hers, where she'd been twisting her blanket between them without noticing. Two eyes, glowing a gentle blue, focused on her from the dark.

"My pardon for startling you." The draenei's voice was weak, tired-sounding, with an accent both foreign and strangely beautiful. "You are most certainly not Mikael. Have I been moved?"

Sal pulled a hand free from his and placed it on his forehead, sliding it down to rest against his cheek. He felt cooler to the touch, thankfully.

"No, you're still in the same place, Mikael is behind me sleeping." She kept her voice as quiet as the draenei's to avoid waking Mikael, and also to avoid drawing attention of the guards for the wrong reasons.

"I have been ill...I remember you, I think. At least, I remember your eyes," Sevei said, squinting. "My apologies, things are a bit unclear."

She smiled down at him, knowing that he likely couldn't see it in the dark. "You were rather ill, yes, and you did indeed wake up once in my company. I was cleaning your wound at the time."

Sevei let his hand drop from hers and carefully rested both on his stomach. "It no longer throbs at least. This is good. My thanks to you."

Realizing her hand still rested against his cheek, Sal snatched it back and was glad that the night hid the blush she felt rising in her face and this time knew she couldn't blame it on a head injury. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. A bit chilly, your home is colder than I am accustomed to. I do have a pounding headache."

"If you are cold, likely your fever has broken, though the climate here generally has warm days and chill nights."

"Aha. I have never been in a climate where the temperature changes so rapidly before," he admitted, furrowing his brow with a sigh as he shut his eyes.

"Aside from the headache, how are you feeling? How does your wound feel?"

His eyes opened just barely, soft blue slits in the night, before shutting again. "I have the headache...the wound aches but I no longer feel fire burning in it. I am thirsty, but I fear I would likely drown if I tried to drink now, I feel so weak."

Saliea carefully moved around Mikael's sleeping form and retrieved the pitcher of water from earlier, peering into it to gauge how much was left. There was a few mouthfuls, at least, and she returned to Sevei's side and looked at him questioningly. After a moment he understood her intention and nodded, and she slid an arm behind his head to help him sit up enough to drink comfortably. He sipped at the water slowly, eyes barely open as his throat worked; finally he grimaced and motioned with the slightest shake of the head, and Saliea lowered him back to his pillow and sat the pitcher aside.

"Thank you..."

Saliea sat there a moment, studying him further. She couldn't call upon her healing abilities just yet, but... "I can help relieve your headache as well, if you'll let me," Sal said quietly, feeling the red in her face intensify at the simple words and vaguely wondering what had come over her. "At the very least, it will help you fall asleep quickly, where the pain won't bother you."

"I feel I have done little else but sleep," Sevei chuckled, pained, peeking at her through one eye. "But...I would be grateful if you wished to bother yourself with it."

She leaned over the prone male and placed a hand on either side of his head. Gently, with her thumbs, she began to massage his temples. His skin was firm and warm beneath her fingertip, and his hair soft but soaked in sweat in places; she could feel the tension in him, as though he were gritting his teeth against the pain, and tried to make her touch more gentle.

"My mother, when I was sick, would take my head in her lap and do this when I was young," she said after a while. "She was a firm believer in not using magic to fix every little thing."

"Wise words," he murmured, chuckling weakly. "You are putting me back asleep, I fear." At those words he seemed to turn his head the slightest bit, like he were turning into the cup of her hand, or at least desired to, and that brought a small smile to her lips.

"Sleep will help you heal. Tomorrow I should be rested enough to close your wound, you'll just have to be wary of pulling the newly healed skin back open."

His reply was lost in a sleepy mumble, and soon his head tilted, his earlier movement now resulting in his cheek cupped in one of her hands. Carefully she adjusted his head on his pillow, then as an afterthought unwound the blanket from herself and covered him with it in addition to his own. He would need it more than she would, with that wound.

Without the covering she felt the night chill keenly, however. Mikael's words from earlier, an invitation to share his blanket if she got cold, came to mind. She looked at him, the human laying with his back to her, asleep and unmoving. Any attempt to yank any of the blanket from him would definitely disturb him, and to be honest with herself, joining the male made her feel a tad uncomfortable. Casting a furtive glance at the guards, she allowed herself to slip into her cat form, instantly feeling warmer as fur covered her form. Then she curled up, resting her head on her front paws and tucking her tail in close with a wide yawn. She was just dozing off when whispers beyond the cage reached her.

"...druid perfect opportunity. She...blamed, we step in and find...too late to save Thrall," came the words in Orcish, only partially understood, distance and the language barrier making it harder for Sal to catch every word.

Without standing she shuffled to the edge of the cage and pressed an ear against the wooden wall.

"We are agreed, but must...cautious. If Thrall's...not look like cat or bear, then..."

'Cat or bear? Do they think I'm an assassin, sent to kill Thrall?' Sal wondered, pressing her ear as flat against the wall as she could.

"Then we kill...and fake wounds later. We be the...thing living in dat room when...over."

'No, wait...' she thought slowly, straining to listen.

"I go tell the others. Do what you...to get the elf into audience with Thrall. We'll take...rest."

Sal jerked her head back. Unless her grasp of Orcish was worse than she thought, those two Horde - whom she hadn't been able to see, thanks to the wall of the prison - were planning on killing Thrall, and blaming her for it!

She listened for several more minutes, but couldn't hear anything more from those two voices, which she decided had been a female troll and a male...Forsaken, perhaps? It had certainly not been a tauren or orc, and while both had been speaking Orcish she hadn't understood absolutely everything said. One thing was certain however: Sal had just been made aware of the very real danger she was now in.


	5. Chapter 5

Mikael shook her awake the next morning, a grim look upon his face.

"I think they're here for you," he whispered, nodding at the sizable group of guards that crowded the front area of their prison. Sal shifted back to her elf form, missing the look of surprise on Sevei's face as she carefully stepped over him and boldly strode toward the guards.

"_You'll have no trouble from me," _she said in Orcish. "_May I tend my friend first. He is hurt."_

After the initial shock of hearing their language coming from the mouth of an elf, the guards stepped aside to let a well-armored - and armed - female tauren through.

"_I head the guards here. You will find pain if you cast anything other than spells of healing. You have five minutes. Go."_

Sal bowed and backed up quickly toward Sevei, mentally investigating exactly how much strength she had regenerated overnight. After a moment of looking inward, she determined it was enough for what she had in mind.

"Good morning," she told him, the draenei having already partially loosened the bandages for her.

"What is going on?" he asked, catching her hands in his before she could pull away, bringing a red tinge to her cheeks.

"I'm being taken elsewhere for interrogation," she replied, not convinced completely that that was the true case; memories from the previous night caused her to think otherwise, but interrogation seemed to be the most likely in terms of excuses to get her somewhere in audience with Thrall. With a sinking feeling, she wondered if this would be the last few moments she'd have in the males' company, a thought that brought unexpected sadness to her, though it wasn't because she feared dying...no, the true fear that then burned in her gut was, would she die before she found her brother?

'Enough,' she thought, turning her thoughts inward to seek her magic, 'you need a clear head to heal and heal properly, and the more alert you are the better chance you have of surviving anything after this.'

Sevei allowed her to pull one hand free, but held firmly to the other, his large hand completely engulfing hers. Sal rather hoped that the early morning light could be blamed for any tint to her face; the warmth she felt on it certainly wasn't the sun, however. She busied herself with removing the bandage so she'd have something other than him to look at.

"Sal," he said seriously, focusing intently on her and squeezing her hand, drawing her attention back to his face. "Do not weaken yourself on my account."

She studied the wound, then grasped for her magic, avoiding his gaze. 'I think there's enough,' she again concluded silently, though her initial assessment now seemed a bit...puny.

"This will not be comfortable, at first," she warned. "I think you have a few broken ribs, so I need to direct the magic down deep enough..." Gingerly, she eased her fingertips down into the wound, feeling Sevei shudder beneath her and give her hand another brief squeeze. She returned it, flashing him a half-smile, then her lips began to move as she began her casting.

A green glow formed in her palm, spreading down her fingers and deep into the injury. When Sal felt the first movements of the muscles and the skin knitting itself back together, she pulled her fingers free and began to direct the magic with a gentle finger down the length of the tear. Sevei twitched beneath her, grunting as the cut sealed itself, new skin flowing together and forming a pale scar.

Sal ceased the flow of magic, and felt herself wobble.

'I was right on that second account, then...not quite enough, apparently,' she thought, tipping sideways without being aware of it, coming to her senses a few moments later with the scent of sweat filling her nostrils.

"I'm okay," she muttered, slowly pushing away from what supported her, held her upright. Mikael's bare chest swam into view, and Sal felt herself blush from face to ear tips.

"Are you okay? What happened?" the warlock asked, leaning down to peer into her face.

She shook her head, trying to bring her thoughts back into line. "It's nothing...the injury required more strength than I had to give, so the effort took a harder toll on my body."

More of her thoughts began making sense. Mikael was now kneeling, his hand reaching for her like he had tried to catch her. But there were... Hands still held her, and if they weren't Mikael's then -

She shifted, seeing that Sevei now sat up and it was his hands on her shoulders, holding her upright. Immediately she looked away from him, feeling shy at his closeness.

"I...I should go, before they decide to drag me out," the druid stuttered, shrugging Sevei's hands from her shoulders as she climbed to her feet.

A gentle tap on her hip made her pause, and slowly turn to face them again.

"Sal. You healed me, and I am grateful," he said softly. "But...please don't think that I am in a hurry to repay the favor. Be careful. Light protect you and return you to us unharmed."

"That's all we can hope for," she said, a small smile crossing her face. She patted his hand on her waist, watching it drop away, and then turned and walked toward the guards.

"Be careful, Sal," Mikael called after her.

She drew near the tauren at the door, empty palms facing her.

"_Are you unharmed?"_ the tauren asked, looking concerned.

_"It was an aftereffect of too much to heal, without the strength to power it. It sapped a bit of my own stamina in place of magic, though had someone tended to him before his wound had gotten so bad, that would not have been an issue," _Sal answered. "_Where am I being taken?"_

"_To Ortok. You will not be hurt. He wishes to speak with you only."_ She led the elf from the cage into the middle of the crowd of guards who all leveled weapons at her. The tauren bowed in apology then accepted a pair of manacles from one of those in the group. "_A precaution only. I am sorry."_

"_Don't be, I understand your reasoning_," Sal replied, holding her wrists out without complaint. She had truthfully expected as much, and was glad to see that the manacles were firm, but not so tight that her circulation would be cut off.

With her hands securely bound and locked, two guards cupped her elbows, one to each side of her, and the group moved away, escorting Sal between them. As she walked she was surprised to find she wasn't afraid, or angry or rebellious. She'd heard stories of the savagery of the Horde yet she had been well-treated so far, and while she didn't understand why Sevei had been left so long in his condition both he and Mikael had been relatively well-treated considering how long they'd been imprisoned. These thoughts in mind made her wonder what, exactly, she should expect from this Ortok person.

Sal was led from the area, a cramped expanse full of wooden cages identical to the one that held Sevei and Mikael behind her. It was a semicircular place, with the prisons crowding the back and then opening into an empty patch of bare earth preceding an archway that led back to a building that looked to be a barracks for the guards. It was under this archway that she was taken, and toward that building. As she drew closer she could see that beyond the choke point of the archway, the walls curved away, meeting once more beyond the building, forming a sort of lopsided figure eight.

"_Guard barracks_," the tauren explained, confirming Sal's suspicions. "_The only way in and out of this area lays through there."_

While she hadn't been consciously entertaining the thought, all fantasies of escaping quickly evaporated at that comment. She certainly couldn't leave Brock and Kakum behind, and now there was Sevei and Mikael as well...a guarded prison was no surprise, after all, but she hadn't been expecting the prison area to be directly connected to the guards' barracks; even if she hadn't been concerned with Kakum and Brock, or Sevei and Mikael, the odds of her alone slipping through would have been slim anyhow.

They led her inside the barracks and immediately to the left, into a guarded sitting room. There, they unchained her and took up positions around the room. It was was roughly squared, with slits for windows, and possessed only a single table with two chairs, one of which Sal now sat in. She assumed the remaining chair was for Ortok, whomever that turned out to be. On the far side of the room was another door flanked by two guards, which as she looked at it opened to let an elaborately armored orc through.

"_Ortok, I presume?" _Sal asked.

The orc bowed to her. "_I am. So the rumors are true, there is a night elf that speaks our tongue." _He cleared his throat. "I do speak Common, however, while the guards do not. We shall conduct our talk in that."

"Thank you. My grasp of Orcish is not complete," Sal replied. "Won't your guards question your use of Common?"

"No, they do not question me at all." He nodded to her, dropping into the chair and continued on. "You do speak our tongue well enough, for someone so new to the language." He folded his hands on the table before him, studying her for a long moment.

"If you will direct your eyes to the ceiling," he said finally.

Sal looked up to see that, carved into the ceiling and glowing softly, was a large arcane glyph.

"That is a glyph that, when I speak the incantation, will compel anyone seated at this table to speak only truth. This includes myself, of course. Do not attempt to resist the compulsion, I am told it causes great pain."

"Quite a useful spell," she commented, eying the glyph with interest. "And not something I would expect in an interrogation, based on the reputation the Horde has made for itself."

"We use only the methods deemed appropriate for the situation, and based on what I know of yours I believe easier methods would be best." He lowered his voice to a point where Saliea could not hear it, but she could guess at what he was doing as the glyph above them seemed to glow even bright as he mumbled.

"There. Now. What are you called?"

"Saliea, Sal for short," she answered, the answer slipping from her before she realized she'd answered. "That...is quite a compulsion."

"Why are you here?"

"I was captured."

"Do you know why?"

"I tried breaking up a fight between Horde and Alliance at the Crossroads. From what I can guess, both sides must have attacked me and I was knocked unconscious. I then woke up here."

Ortok nodded again. "You were brought here because you were both speaking our language and also attempting to stop the battle. There are those who suspect you to be part of an Alliance plot to plant a false defector amongst us. Is this true?"

"I am no spy," Sal responded, needing no prodding from the truth spell to do so. "I am-" she stopped, not wanting to tell Ortok of her brother, but then gasped as a sharp pain spiked in her head, making her eyes water.

"I did warn you," the orc smirked. "What are you attempting to hide?"

"I met up with Brock, then Kakum, after being captured by a troll named Numskull and his gang of thugs," she said in a rush. "My brother is missing, those I adventured with dead or deserted. I fear my brother too is dead but didn't wish to tell you and give you that leverage over me - DAMN IT ALL," she growled after the spell's urges released her.

Ortok was laughing hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. "Is that all? One lone night elf wandering our territory is no threat," he gasped. "I admire you dedication to family, but rest assured I won't use this knowledge against you...in fact, I don't even think it's as useful as you seem to think."

Sal slumped in her chair, sighing heavily, her gaze tracing the grain in the table. "What do you want with me? Why am I being treated so politely?"

"We are not beasts, as you seem to think we are. You are cooperating, and even helped prevent needless deaths – we have little reason to harm you. We are merely curious about your reasons for doing so. Why were you traveling in the company of Horde?"

She looked up at him. "Have you harmed them?"

"The troll and tauren? No. They are being held currently, to be released when we've decided what to do with you."

"So I'm not to be executed?"

Ortok blinked at her. "First you expect torture and now execution? What do you believe we are? No, you're not slated for execution. You have done nothing to harm us, and that you defended one of our outposts against your own people, well...that tells us a great deal and makes us more willing to be lenient. No, if you had wanted to harm us, you would have joined in the fighting, not attempted to stop it. You will be released, weaponless, and likely asked to just simply leave our territory."

"The human, and the draenei, will they be released too?" Sal asked, leaning forward.

Ortok scratched his chin, leaning back with a warning look. "Possibly. Both are here for the same reason you are, mostly – they were found in the wrong place at the wrong time. And frankly, the warlock is too dangerous for my liking."

"Dangerous?" she repeated. "Dangerous how?"

"He was captured when he strayed too close to the city proper. We suspected he was a scout, and he slew several of my men in their attempt to subdue him or drive him away. Whatever he is here for was apparently important enough to fight for it, though..." He lowered his voice and leaned forward. "From all reports it sounded as though he ran before turning to fight. I have spoken with him and his story supports that, but I'm not about to make a judgment call on a subject so...questionable. He resisted the glyph's attempts to force him to tell the truth, so we do not know why he is here, only that he is not a scout and not here to do harm to anyone. He was here on some sort of personal business, and was driven to protect himself when my guards attacked him. His personal business, whatever it was, was apparently important enough to risk the glyph killing him."

'And Mikael seemed so harmless,' she thought dryly once the orc had trailed off. "I see. And the draenei?"

He shrugged. "I don't know that story, or where he was captured. I shall inquire." The orc planted both hands on the table and pushed his chair back. "Unless there is something more you'd like to speak of, I believe we are done here."

Sal grasped her head in her hands, attempting to sort her words before the spell turned them into a gushing jumble. "Actually, there is."

"Oh? Go on."

"This must..." pain spiked again, pushing her to answer. "This is for...Thrall's ears only, I'm afraid."

"I will tell Thrall," Ortok said firmly.

"No..." she said, her voice fast becoming a whimper as the spell began to ravage her mind with waves of pain. "I can't...the risk of the wrong people...hearing..."

A wave of dizziness overcame her, and she was vaguely aware of Ortok quickly canceling the spell as her head thudded into the table in front of her.

"You fool," he hissed into her ear, grunting orders for a clean cloth and water.

"It's...possibly life or death...for me and for someone else..." she murmured, not resisting when he lifted her head from the table. Warmth flowed over her lips; her nose was bleeding, but whether it was from the spell or her face hitting the table was anyone's guess.

Ortok wiped at her face, clearly angry or annoyed, possibly both. "I have seen people die under that spell, and I just told you the warlock nearly did." He lowered his voice. "Thrall is with diplomats all week, he won't bother himself with you, not for anything. If this is truly life or death as you claim, then tell me and I shall notify him."

She shook her head weakly, refusing to give up her one chance at possibly living through the next few hours. "I'm sorry...I can ensure the warning gets to him only if I deliver it myself."

He let out a guttural growl, shoving the bloodied cloth into her hands. "I will see if I can do anything. If I cannot, then you will, on pain of death, tell me this-"

They, and all the guards, jumped as the door banged open, a male undead striding in. He snapped a salute, stopping a few feet away.

"_Ortok, the elf is to be escorted to Thrall's meeting room immediately."_

Sal's eyes widened at his voice. He was one of those she'd overheard!

Ortok looked from the undead to Sal, his eyes narrowing. "_I was told by Thrall himself that he would be busy all this day."_

The other snapped another salute. _"He decided this morning to meet with the druid to interrogate her himself in the time between breakfast and his first meetings. It isn't a wide window of time, we must hurry."_

"_Very well, wait outside,"_ Ortok ordered.

As the undead left, Sal seized Ortok's arm, pulling him down toward her.

"Beware," she whispered, "be alert and be cautious. Something is wrong."

"Suspicious, even without your warning" he murmured, in Common. "I think I see why you restrained yourself, though I promise you my ears are loyal to my Warchief." His hands moved, and she heard the soft click of of the manacle lock..as it unlocked, rather than secured itself further. He returned her startled gaze evenly.

"I trust you druid, for now. Betray that trust, and I will make sure you meet an especially painful end."

"You have nothing to fear from me," she whispered.

He tugged her to her feet; Sal winced as her head throbbed - the cost of withholding the warning about Thrall's possible assassination had her entire head aching, and aching badly. Silently she followed Ortok from the room, who allowed a guard to strap on an impressive broadsword to his back before dismissing their guarded escort.

"_We'll be walking through the city proper, she'd be a fool to attempt escape with so many around us," _he grunted when they protested. "_I am more than a match for a single bound druid runt." _Sal glowered at him at the 'runt' comment, once again judged on her size and hating it.

After leading her through a confusing maze of hallways, they were outside and in the city. Sal was torn between favoring her pounding head and gawking at the sights; Horde too gawked - not at the magnificence of the buildings, but at the night elf suddenly in their midst. A snarl from Ortok every so often kept the braver, more inquisitive away...except for the the children that formed a mob and flanked them, curious about her, most of them never having seen an actual night elf up close. Bits of their conversations reached her ears, primarily concerning a debate over whether she was a real druid or not as she possessed no visible tail. She didn't miss the brief smile that crossed Ortok's face when he too realized their topic of gossip.

They wound their way through the city proper and, much to Sal's surprise, stopped at a plain dwelling on the outskirts of the city.

"We shall be teleported into the meeting room," Ortok explained. "I imagine I'd be flayed alive if I led you in directly."

Sal nodded her understanding, though silently added that it would likely serve to only confuse her sense of direction further - already off thanks to the horrid headache she had. He motioned for her to wait a few steps behind him, then stepped onto the doorstep and knocked politely. A female orc with wild, sleep-mussed red hair answered moments later, opening the door a crack while yawning and tying a sash over deep blue robes.

"_Yes?"_

"_Meraka, good morning. We need a portal to the meeting with Thrall, and also a message sent ahead warning of our arrival."_

"_Adams already ported in, they should assume you will be soon behind - is that a night elf?"_ Meraka interrupted herself, peering out the door at Sal.

"_She is going to audience with Thrall,"_ Ortok said pointedly.

"_I see. Well, enter. It will take a moment to prepare another," _the female said, throwing her door open and disappearing inside.

Sal followed Ortok into the dwelling. Bookshelves lined every wall, groaning under the weight of hundreds of tomes. Magical items were crammed on every horizontal surface, the only truly empty space to the one-room home was the now-vacated bed tucked against the far wall. The whole place had a cramped, claustrophobic feel to it; Meraka was pulling on an elaborate set of robes that had seemingly been tossed over the end of the bed, apparently not bothered at all by the clutter or her guests. The robes were black, covered in runes of silver thread that twinkled in the sunlight coming through a single dusty window. Meraka shrugged them into place, patting them smooth, then turned to face them. Sal openly gawked.

"_How in the world do you cast with those in the way?" _she blurted, amazed. Meraka possessed an enormous bosom; Sal could see the fabric of her robes straining to hold her breasts in, even from across the room and in the dim light.

Meraka scowled as Ortok howled in laughter. "_I manage," _she said dryly, once his laughing fit was over.

As she turned away, to prepare her spellcasting, Ortok surprised Sal by throwing an arm around her shoulders.

"I think I like you, elf. I will be sorry to see you leave here."

Sal simply smiled in return, cringing at the renewed pounding in her mind brought on by the loud laughter.

Meraka began to chant then, making complex finger motions over a charm she now held in the palm of an outstretched hand. When the charm began to glow, she ceased her chanting and faced them.

"_It is ready. I will speak the trigger word once we are safely outside."_

Ortok led them out, pulling Sal to his side as the mage placed the charm on the ground and whispered under her breath some. The charm flared as in the air above it a shimmering disk appeared, its surface rippling like water stirred by a gentle breeze. As Meraka stepped away, Ortok tugged Sal in closer to his side.

"We need to step in together. One, two three-" and he pulled Sal alongside him into the magical doorway.

Her stomach dropped for the brief instant it took for the teleport spell to work; gravity rearranged, then reasserted itself, over the span of a second. They now stood in a circular room, with a tall ceiling and chairs and tables pushed and stacked against the walls. Directly in front of Sal was a raised platform, upon which sat one unoccupied chair, and a chair with a large orc seated in it. Thrall.

She immediately bowed deeply, eyes sweeping the room. The only door was behind her, and she counted ten guards clothed in the armor of the elite standing at attention in various areas around the room. There were three windows, all heavily shuttered. Her gaze met that of every guard, remaining on the undead whose voice she knew well. He stood near, to her left, and returned her gaze without emotion.

"_I am very busy, Ortok. This interruption had better be worth my time,"_ Thrall snarled.

Ortok glanced at Sal, then back to Thrall, his hand inching up toward the hilt of the broadsword that jutted over his shoulder. "_My lord...I was told you'd summoned me."_

_ "I did no such thing. Now, what is so important as to interrupt me?"_

Sal saw movement in the corner of her eye and moved quickly, bringing her manacled wrists up and over the undead's head, drawing a strangled snarl from the male even as he reached for the sword on his waist.

"_Your guards mean to kill you!"_ she shouted.

Ortok ripped his weapon from its scabbard, sweeping wide as the guards ringing them rushed forward. He rushed to put himself between Thrall and the attackers, roaring for assistance.

"_What is the meaning of this?" _Thrall thundered, pulling a hammer from behind his chair and using it to deflect a crossbow bolt. "_Treachery!"_

Sal grappled with the undead, her much-lighter form clinging to his back as she hauled backwards, choking off his air supply – did he even need to breathe? - and remaining out of his reach. The click of a gun sounded in her ear, and she immediately released the catch on her manacles, falling away and to the floor as the unseen guard behind her fired. The druid scrambled away, getting spattered with gore as the undead crumpled with a hole blown completely through him; she tore off her restraints and fell into herself, ignoring the next shot - that came dangerously close - and opened the feral part of herself. Moments later, several hundred pounds of angry panther barreled into the orc firing at her. His terrified scream ended in a gurgle as cat claws shredded his face, the only unarmored part of him she could get at. He threw his gun, got an axe halfway to bear, then fell limp as Sal sprang away from him and darted off as two more rushed at her, crashing into a third as she fled them. She tore and ripped at hands and face, then yowled when an arrow thudded deep into her flank. Whirling, the two approaching attackers suddenly had a much bigger opponent, and the guard Sal stood on cried out in terror and pain as several ribs snapped like twigs under the druid's increased weight. Sal, now one very angry bear, shrugged off the blow from a rushing hammer and caught the thrust of a sword between her teeth; a few shakes of her head sent weapon and wielder flying in opposite directions, leaving only the hammer-wielding guard left to face the rampaging druid.

The orc threw down his weapon and turned to flee, but was knocked headfirst into the wall with a backhanded slap, neck audibly snapping. He fell motionless to the floor in a limp heap, leaving a bloody streak from nose and lips down the wall. The remaining six guards were pressing Ortok and Thrall back to the wall, off the platform, working in harmony together to keep the orcs on the defensive. Ortok bled from several cuts, Thrall seemed to have fared better though he did have an arrow jutting from his hip.  
A thundering blow shook the door, punctuated by shouts coming from beyond it; Sal could now see that a locking beam had been lowered and secured, keeping the door shut.

"_Runt, get that door open!"_ Ortok shouted at her, hissing in pain as a crossbow quarrel nicked his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.

"With pleasure," she growled, seizing the gasping troll she stood on and heaving him into - and through - the doorway.

Two attackers fell to one sweep of Ortok's great sword, but the move left him vulnerable; a dagger, then another, quickly found their way mark, biting deeply into the orc's side and chest, driven clear through his mail armor. Thrall roared as Ortok staggered, then fell.

With the wreckage of the door removed, guards poured in. One among them leveled a heavy crossbow, aimed and fired unnoticed in the confusion by all except a single person.

Thrall was knocked completely off his feet by the rushing bear, deafened by the roar of pain right in his face as he and Sal hit the floor.

For the druid, that last hit had staggered her, scrambling her senses as too many messages of pain tried to enter her brain at once. She felt her bear form drop away, heard Thrall suck in a breath as the weight disappeared, became aware of the bolts embedded in her hip and her calf, her entire left leg refusing to answer her commands to move and was quickly going numb...though why she needed to move was a mystery, a message lost in the jumble of pain. Thrall's breath was hot on her face for a brief moment, then she was shoved aside as the warlord stood, barking commands to restore order in the room. Her eyes met those of Ortok's, who was prone nearby.

"I see why...now...that you wanted to tell...in person," he wheezed, a weak grin upon his face. "I wish you had...trusted me though."

'I had to be certain it reached him, that it wasn't overheard by the wrong people,' she wanted to tell him, but the words got lost somewhere between brain and mouth. Her leg burned where it wasn't numb, pain spreading in waves ahead of the numbness; she seriously wondered if she'd been poisoned, but again the hurt took the idea and hid it away in some corner of her mind she couldn't reach. In her peripheral vision, she could detect movement, but made no effort to draw attention to herself, remaining curled on her side where Thrall had shoved her. Figures came and stood between her and Ortok, obscuring her view of the ailing orc. She vaguely recognized the incantations of priestly healing spells, as they worked over the male, mending his injuries and paying no mind to her.

Through the haze she heard voices, voices telling her to be careful, to return unharmed.

'I'm sorry Mikael...Sevei...'

A wrenching pain from her calf brought her mind racing back to near-awareness; she groaned, her leg twitching involuntarily.

"_Hold her, there is still one in her hip."_

Rough hands firmly shoved her flat, and Sal felt something being shoved into her mouth. She fought feebly, trying to spit out whatever it was being force-fed to her, but then found herself tearing at it when the bolt in her hip was pulled free, heading thrashing from side to side as she growled and moaned around a leather thong - the object they'd slid between her teeth and her tongue.

"_She'd be better off if she'd just black out."_

_ "These were poisoned, call for a druid."_

_ "I'm right here, move." _

The familiar spell for abolishing poison reached Sal's ears moments later before the burning registered, as the spell targeted and forcibly expelled the poison from her blood. Suddenly, Sal was choking on something solid that filled her mouth.

_"She uh, she bit through the strap."_

_ "Be glad it was that and not a finger, or her own tongue. Open, druid."_

Sal's jaws were pried open, the chunk of leather removed as she spat and sputtered around it.

_"How is she still awake?"_

_ "I imagine it is the nature of the poisons, there was a different one on each projectile. It's likely why she seems so befuddled as well."_

So many voices, so many faces briefly peering through the jumble...

"_Here now, start patching her up."_

A wave of warmth began to spread from her chest, racing down her sides to the injured hip, down the legs to the injuries there, and also up her shoulders and neck to her head. As the healing magics of the druid and the priests crowded her took effect, Sal felt her mind clearing even as she felt her body mending. Finally, the mess of sensory input straightened out and she made out individual faces above her to match the voices that had pierced the fog. Three priests - two male trolls and a female undead - and a male tauren, the druid, knelt two on each side of her.

One of the trolls waved a finger in front of her face, and she instinctively followed it with her eyes.

"She be aware. Can ya speak?" he asked.

"_...ow..._"

"Everything is closed, all poison removed. All she should need now is a meal and rest," the tauren said, rising to his feet.

"_Night elf."_

Sal craned her neck, turning to see Thrall surrounded by guards and healers, all traces of injury gone.

He stared at her without emotion, his face unreadable, then -

"_Rest well. This time, I DO order an audience with you."_

She could only nod as he turned on his heel and left, the tight circle of guardians following. Nearby, Ortok was sitting up, stripped bare to the waist, his ruined armor in pieces around him.

"Impressive throw," he commented dryly, twirling a scrap of wood around in his hands before tossing it to her. It bounced on the floor and landed near her elbow.

"You knocked most of the door out," he explained, "but the rest - and there wasn't much - had to be kicked in."

He stopped talking as he was pulled to his feet by the two troll priests, swaying unsteadily between them. Sal felt a light touch on her leg, and looked up to see the tauren offering his hand to her.

"_Come. You need to rest."_

She allowed him to pull her to her feet, and support her when a wave of dizziness washed over her.

"_A shame healing you can remove the injury, but not the muscle memory of having received it," _he commented.

Finding that staring directly at the floor lessened the dizziness, Sal kept a hand on the arm of the tauren leading her, concentrating both on her toes and on maintaining that contact to her guide.

They didn't go far; soon Sal was taken into a small windowless room, and pushed down into a chair before a single small table that was attached to the wall, the door she'd entered on her left and two other empty chairs pulled up and seemingly awaiting occupants.

The druid stood behind her silently, staring expectantly out the door; Sal sat at the table in silence, hands cradling her head, and battled against the feeling that she was going to topple over at any moment. After several long minutes, Ortok wearily stumbled in, wearing a loose linen shirt over his armored leggings. A female orc followed him, clad in a simple red tunic and bearing a tray upon which a pitcher, two mugs, and a covered dish sat. She placed the tray on the table as Ortok seated himself, then left without a word and shut the door firmly behind her.

"Still woozy?" the orc asked her, who merely nodded in reply.

"It's your body's reaction to the trauma of your injuries. Generally, our defense mechanism is to fall unconscious, but you had the misfortune of remaining awake while they patched you back together, so you're now experiencing what normally you would have slept through," he explained, pouring a mug of an amber liquid and shoving it under her nose. "Drink it, it'll help."

Sal wordlessly took a sip, then coughed as the powerful liquor burned its way down her throat. "Ugh, what is this?"

The orc shrugged as he filled his own mug. "No idea, but you only get to drink it if you get the stuffing beat out of you."

A pleasant warmth was spreading from her stomach as she swallowed the drink in small sips; she felt traumatized muscles relax and her head beginning to clear, the dizziness going away bit by bit.

Ortok studied her face, recognizing the clarity returning, and nodded.

"Good, good," he said, pulling the cover off the dish between them to reveal roasted potatoes and some sort of spiced meat. "Now that you'll keep it down, get some food in you. Eat slowly though," he warned.

She wasn't recovered enough to find the idea of food welcoming, but did as she'd been told after Ortok had removed extra plates from under the dish and pushed a filled one at her. As she alternately nibbled at her food and sipped the liquor, Sal felt a sense of normalcy returning to herself. Half-turning to stretch her legs out in front of her, she saw the tauren was now in cat form and dozing stretched out in front of the door.

"He is there to protect," Ortok commented.

"Protect you from me?" she asked.

The orc laughed. "After seeing you fight, I might indeed need a guard, but no, not for me. For both of us, in case someone not directly involved in the attempt tries to get a little revenge for the botched assassination."

"Were all in the room caught?" she asked, picking idly at her meat.

He nodded. "Most were taken alive, though two you attacked are dead, as well as that Adams fellow...I don't think even our best healers could have done anything for him except give him his last rights as he passed," Ortok said dryly.

Sal winced; she hadn't meant to kill any of them, really. The orc saw the reaction and nodded slowly at her.

"Don't trouble yourself with it. It was them or us, and they wouldn't have hesitated to drive their blades home...some nearly did," he added, gesturing at the pale scars from his stab wounds. "The ones taken alive knew death awaited if they failed. They will be interrogated, and then the most they can hope for is a swift death."

"I still hadn't intended to kill anyone," Sal protested sharply.

Shrugging, the orc emptied his mug in three huge gulps, grunting in satisfaction and reaching to refill it. "This stuff almost makes it worth getting injured."

Several minutes of silence passed then.

"What is to become of me?" the elf asked finally.

Ortok, a bit of potato halfway to his mouth, shrugged and let the food drop back to his plate. "I honestly can't tell you. You obviously were not a part of the plot to end Thrall, but you didn't inform anyone about it...that looks a bit strange."

Sal flashed him a grim smile. "Allow me to explain then. Picture yourself in my situation: alone, captured. You overhear a plan to assassinate the leader of your opposing faction; you cannot see who said it, you have no way of knowing who is involved. You are surrounded by possible collaborators with no true way to warn without tipping off the wrong people that you know their plans. The only, sure person you can speak to, the only one certainly NOT on the side of the assassins..."

"Is the person marked for death, namely Thrall," Ortok finished. "Sound reasoning."

"I know the only one whom I could trust with the information was Thrall, even if it would make it appear as though I too were part of the plot to kill him. I had intended to warm him, but the conspirators moved quickly, acting as soon as they had secured the room with both of us in it," Sal went on. "From there, all I could do was fight in defense, made easier by you trusting enough to unlock my bindings."

"Something was amiss," Ortok admitted. "With your determination to keep silent about your warning, it at first made me wonder if you yourself intended to do Thrall harm, despite what you told me while under the truth spell."

"But..." Sal prompted, once he had fallen silent.

"But," he said, holding up a finger, "I knew Thrall would be busy, unavailable, for much of this week. He himself informed me of this. So when Adams came and said otherwise, and I saw your reaction to his news, my suspicion heightened. 'If you were indeed an assassin, why would you look so alarmed that your time had come?' I had thought, but more pressing was 'why was Thrall suddenly so interested in immediately meeting with you?' He was notified of your capture by messenger long before you'd even been brought here, and while he was intrigued he wasn't overly concerned. While I do understand that his mind could have easily changed, I'd hardly consider you more important than discussing the finer points of what it means to be allied with blood elves."

_"The answer is: I wasn't concerned. I didn't want to meet with the night elf at all."_

At the booming response, both Sal and Ortok jumped and turned, to see Thrall himself framed in the doorway, the tauren (still a cat) sitting respectively off to the side of where he had been laying earlier.

"_Leave us," _he ordered, striding in. Ortok nearly fell over himself to get out of the warlord's way and scrambled for the door. The cat druid beat a hasty retreat as well at the glare of the Horde leader, leaving Sal alone with Thrall.

"_What is your name?" _the orc asked, taking the seat Ortok had just vacated.

"_S-Sal, Saliea," _ she stuttered.

"_Am I so intimidating?" _he asked blandly.

"_I'm wondering whether I should bow or cower, to be honest," _she said quietly, gaze on her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

"_Neither, for our talk shall be brief. I was listening at the door, I am convinced you had nothing to do with the attempt on my life. I do have a single question, however: why?"_

Sal slowly raised her eyes to meet his own. "_Why?"_

_ "Why. Why did you, my enemy, attempt to warn me?"_

_ "I am not your enemy, not at this moment," _she said softly. "_Until we meet on the battlefield you are simply another orc to me."  
_Irritably he waved a hand at her. "_Just answer. I am aware you have shown yourself to be no enemy of mine."_

She took a deep breath then exhaled sharply, mentally organizing what she intended to say. "_Two reasons."_

_ "And they are?"_

_ "One is purely selfish. I overheard two of the conspirators speaking outside my cell. I was to be blamed for your death, and killed, either by the killers themselves or by your people afterward. The quickest way to clear my name, the best chance I had at survival, was to sound the alarm," _she explained.

"_The second reason?" _Thrall asked, fingers drumming on the table.

Sal blew out another deep breath, her eyes narrowing. "_We are at war. A horrible reputation exists for both sides, stories of gruesome deaths by the Alliance, of ghastly tortures at the hands of the Horde. What is truth is anyone's guess. However...I was captured, for no reason, by a group of Horde united under a troll named Numskull. We - that is to say, my brother, myself, and the others of our group - had done nothing to this group beyond turn aside their hostilities to us, and once we were out of the safety of Ratchet, he came to take revenge for his botched attack that we turned aside. We were attacked, hunted like dogs, until we were separated from my brother, two of the men I traveled with lay dead, and the paladin with us abandoned me to my fate. I was caught, tortured, treated like an animal. It was all sport to them..." _Sal was close to raving now, her hands clutching the edge of the table so hard that her knuckles shined white. "_I understand that we are judged by the measure of the worst of us. My torture, short though it was thanks to the actions of a certain tauren, has shown me that the stories of needless cruelty have some merit. Likewise, the friendship I have found in Brock, in Kakum, and the humane treatment I have received while imprisoned has also shown me that the blanket reputation given to your faction has holes here and there, where kindness and peace pierce the hatred." _She fixed the surprised orc with her gaze, pausing a moment to catch her breath.

"_You cannot control every aspect, everything those under you do," _Sal said firmly, "_but, without your presence things could be a lot worse. With you removed, someone of the mind like Numskull's could seize power, and woe then to my people, for all the pointless pain that would arise."_

Thrall sat back in the chair, eyes narrowing as he studied her silently. His fingers continued to drum on the tabletop, a steady tempo that gave no indication of his mood. Sal returned his gaze steadily.

"_I don't know whether to call you exceptionally brave, or incredibly foolish, for speaking in such a way...but I will call you honest," _he grunted finally.

Sal remained silent, refusing to break eye contact in this apparent test of wills. After several long moments he abruptly stood, beginning to pace.

"_I dislike being in anyone's debt," _he said without looking at her. "_Name your reward."  
"My companions and I go free," _she said firmly.

Thrall glared at her from over his shoulder. "_Your companions including...?"_

_ "The tauren, the troll. The human, and the draenei. All are to be released, with me...unless, of course, you had some restriction you purposely withheld from me solely so you could refuse."_

He snarled and stalked toward her; tensing, she prepared - to do what, fight or run, she wasn't sure just yet.

"_You are stupidly bold to ask that I simply let you all walk out of here," _he growled, thrusting his face into her's.

"_You gave no restriction on what I could request," _she snapped back, wrinkling her nose at him. "_Will you or will you not honor your word - the word you FIRST gave me - regarding a reward?"_

_ "Of course I will." _He seized an arm and pulled her to her feet, dragging her to the door and roughly shoving her into two very startled guards. "_Take her to her quarters. Now. And you," _he said, his voice dropping dangerously low as he glared at Sal, held up between the two guards. "_You...if you ever imply again that I am not true to my word, I will kill you myself." _With that threat hanging in the air between them, Thrall turned and stomped away.

"_What...in the world did you say to him?" _one guard asked in amazement.

"_Perhaps too many things he didn't wish to hear," _Sal muttered.

She was led away; she was not taken back to the wooden cage, but instead to a room within the barracks that stood before the cages. She was pushed into a room and the door was shoved shut behind her; three sets of bunks and a single hammock lined the left wall of the rectangular room, the back wall was bare and the right wall was covered in storage shelves. Up from one of the bottoms bunks sprang -

"Sal!" Mikael shouted, leaping from the bed and racing for her; in the bunk beyond that one, a dozing Sevei jerked awake.

The elf stumbled a few steps further, catching herself on the outstretched arm of the warlock. She didn't at first respond, her mind racing as it tried making sense of the myriad of questions both males were spouting at her, instead allowing Mikael to pull her closer and support her weight against him.

Mikael then lead her over to the nearest bunk - the one he had vacated a moment earlier - and pushed her down into a seated position. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and hid her face in the hollow between her thighs and her chest, letting out a shaky sigh. Everything that had just happened seemed to hit her all at once then, and she began to tremble violently.

Mikael and Sevei looked at one another helplessly; Sevei left his own bunk and came to perch on the bunk behind her, one hand raised as though he meant to place it on her shoulder but had thought better of it. The human sank down beside her, and they both held their silent vigil over the distressed druid.

"We will all be released," Sal said, hours later, her voice hoarse and muffled as her face was still hidden.

The males hadn't moved; they looked at her in surprise, then back at one another in confusion.

"Sal, what happened?" Mikael asked softly.

She simply shook her head, her entire body rocking with the movement though her shaking had stopped.

Sevei did, this time, place a hand on her shoulder. "Sal," he murmured, "you are disturbed, your armor is torn. What did they do to you?" She was silent a moment longer, then surprised the draenei by letting her legs drop down and reaching up to take his hand in both of hers. Then, slowly, haltingly, she told them everything that had occurred since she'd left their company that morning.

"It's just...I'm sorry..." she finished in a quiet voice. "I'm not normally rattled this easily..."

The draenei squeezed her hands gently. "Do not be sorry. You have been through much; now that you are here, with us, you are safe once more."

Mikael patted her leg, shaking his head in amazement. "I think I'd likely be hiding in a corner after all that. You are a stronger, er, woman than I...and that made no sense," he concluded, nodding sagely.

The druid managed to smile some at his words, feeling Sevei behind her shaking in silent laughter. Mikael pointed an accusing finger at them.

"Oh, like you've never said something similar, and besides, I got a smile out of you. Surely that counts for something?"

"It was something all right," Sevei chuckled quietly so only Sal could hear, and that drew a few giggles from her.

Abruptly, she shrugged the draenei's hand from her shoulders and gave Mikael a shove, swinging her legs back onto the bunk.

"Shoo. I feel like a nap. Mine," she said, stretching out, rolling to face Sevei. He patted the air between them, smiling, as he retreated to the next bunk over. Mikael teetered on the edge, attempting to regain his balance and get his legs under him.

"That was rather uncalle - oomph-" he grunted, catching the pillow Sal slung at him fully in the face.

"Shoo," she repeated.

"But this was my bunk," he grumbled, heading for the far bunk. "Females..." he muttered, falling into a stagger as he this time caught the pillow to the back of the head.

"I heard that," Sal said dryly, rolling over once more to put her back to both of them.

Mikael retrieved and brandished the pillow at her. "If you think you're getting this back you're sorely mistaken,"

Sal heard the soft laughter that was Sevei, and heard the two males quietly bantering back and forth as she wriggled to settle herself comfortably into the bunk. Now that the dread and terror she hadn't realized she'd been withholding were fading away, she now felt how drained she was from the day's events. Quickly, she fell into a deep slumber, not waking when guards brought them their evening meal.

"Do not," Sevei said quietly, when Mikael wondered aloud if they should wake her. He looked at her sleeping form; she hadn't changed positions since she'd fallen asleep. "She will wake in her own time, when her body allows her. Let her rest."

She was still sleeping when they too went to bed later that night. Mikael rolled himself into the bunk and fell asleep nearly immediately, but Sevei was awake for much longer. When he finally decided to retire, he paused by Sal's bedside. She was still breathing evenly, evidence of a deep sleep; he rubbed his hand briefly across her shoulder, smiling when she hummed sleepily but did not awake. Moments later, Sevei too was resting.


	6. Chapter 6

She woke early the next morning, feeling exceptionally refreshed and more like herself. Sitting up, she could hear the steady breathing of the other two, still sleeping, and the sound comforted her. Tugging her legs in close, she glanced once more at the two sleeping males and, hoping fervently that they would sleep on for a while longer, she began to strip off her armor. The druid had learned to always wear simple, close-fitting, thick cloth shirts and short pants under her leathers, to both provide extra padding against blows and, in cases like this, to keep her from being in a state of complete undress when she had to remove her armor. Moments later, Sal sat on the bed with her armor across her lap, clad only in light tan pants that reached her knees, and a shirt that left her arms bare; she moved the armor from her lap to the bed and spread it out so she could inspect it.

Her chestpiece was cut in several places, some tears penetrating the armor entirely - proof of the gashes showing as frayed spots on her undergarment. She turned the armor inside out to gauge how deep the rest of the minor tears were, and saw that there was a scrap of tan cloth clinging to the inside of the back, a section that was nearly severed completely. She eyed it, trying to remember if she'd had an injury there, thinking the cloth to be an old bandage at first, but then saw it had no blood on it. Humming to herself, Sal reached out to tug it free when soft laughter made her freeze.

"You appear to be missing something..." Sevei commented from behind her. She turned, seeing he was still stretched out on the bunk, on his side, and pointing at her back.

It dawned on her then - the back of her shirt was...

Craning her neck and dropping the armor to the bed, she tugged at her clothing, wiggling it around until she could see her bare side - the cloth inside her armor was actually the back half of her undershirt. Fumbling her top back into place, Sal blushed a deep red.

"I...am not sure whether to find this amusing or embarrassing," she said, clenching her fists in her lap, feeling quite foolish.

"Laugh," he said, "you have a pretty smile."

Her face felt incredibly warm, and she hurriedly turned her attention toward examining her pants. Three of her fingers fit through the hole the heavy crossbow bolt had made in her hip, and she found herself wondering what the hole in HER had looked like.

Unavoidably, her attention was drawn back to Sevei, who was now sitting up and appeared to be meditating, his hair spilling messily down his back and shoulders. Sal, now that they weren't in a dark cage, could see now that his skin was actually a lovely light blue, and the four thin tendrils that were along his jawline were decorated with gold and copper rings. A thick tail was curled around him, and his legs were double-jointed, ending in hooves - two things that Sal hadn't noticed previously. His eyes were currently shut as he breathed slowly, deeply, and evenly, his hands upon his knees. He was now wearing a shirt - both males were, something that Sal, in her distressed state of mind, hadn't actually realized yesterday - so she couldn't be sure how thorough her healing of his wound had been; she began to fold her armor up and place it to the side (it was essentially useless now, and so there was little point in donning it again) and was debating the best way to ask him to take his shirt off without feeling silly when he opened his eyes and met hers.

"Are you well this morning?" he asked, swinging his legs off the bed and stretching, then standing.

"I feel like myself again," she answered quietly, quickly averting her gaze. "How is your chest?"

His hands came up, rubbing at the scar through the material of his shirt. "The skin pulls if I move sometimes, but otherwise it is fine."

Sal crawled to the edge of her bunk on her knees, pushing her boots out of the way and patting the bedside near her. "Sit, let me look at it."

In one graceful movement, Sevei stripped his shirt off and perched on the edge of the bunk, shifting one leg up so he could turn and allow Sal to reach the pale scar.

"Your hands are cold," he whistled as she ran a finger down the scar's length.

"Your chest is just...warm," she retorted, immediately feeling silly as she said it. His chest was indeed warm beneath her fingers, and firm. She blinked, turning her thoughts back to healing and away from...wherever they kept trying to lead her.

She cleared her throat, smiling to herself, then really concentrated on what she was actually supposed to be doing.

"The skin is still too new, see how you've torn it slightly here?" she said, lightly brushing her fingers over the tip of the scab near his hip. Sevei tilted his head, looking down; the skin had torn where new met the old, with a damp sheen of fresh blood dribbling over a small spot of dried. He wiped it away with the bottom of his shirt, studying it thoughtfully.

"I hadn't noticed," he said idly, now examining the spot of dried blood that had appeared on his shirt overnight, not too far from the new stain he'd just put on there himself.

Sal held out both hands, palms flat and parallel with his chest, holding them just above his skin. "I will mend it."

Gently he pushed her hands away, shaking his head. "Leave it, for now. I do not want you tiring yourself," he explained when she went to move her hands back and he pushed them away once more.

She smiled up at him. "I'll be fine, really. It's a simple healing spell this time. Just enough to heal the tear there, and then to thicken the rest of it - I can't remove the scar, not even if I was fully rested and put all my strength behind it, sadly, but I can make it so you won't be bothered by it." She reached out to him again and this time he let her, her palms once more just above the surface of his flesh.

She breathed out slowly, then whispered the words of the spell; little wisps of green light flickered between her palms and his chest, dancing along the scar when it contacted. All that otherwise visibly happened was the tiny spot of blood at his hip vanished, and the scar itself turned a blue so pale it was nearly white, as the skin thickened.

"There," Sal said, bringing her hands away. "A priest may be able to remove the scar, but at least it won't tear anymore."

"Again, you have my thanks," he said, running a hand down his chest again; Sal's eyes followed it, stopping short when she realized what she was doing and then cleared her throat.

The draenei looked passed her, to her armor on the bed nearby. "Do you intend to put that on once more?" he asked, gesturing.

Glad to have something other than him to focus on, the druid shook her head. "It is badly damaged and won't serve its purpose anyhow, so there is little use in doing so. My boots seem to be the only thing worth keeping out of all of it."

She collected his shirt from where it lay on the bed between them; she turned it right-side out and smoothed it across her lap before offering it to him.

"Oh. Yes. Right," he said, and Sal was glad that, for once, it was HIM looking embarrassed. He quickly pulled it on, and Sal felt a bewildering array of emotion, from embarrassment to disappointment.

'What. Is. Wrong with you?' she asked herself sharply, shaking her head.

Sevei paused in pulling his hair from his collar at the motion. "What is it? Did you overexert yourself?" he asked with some concern, leaning close to her.

'He smells delightfully male,' she realized, and then realized she quite liked it.

"Oh, um. No, I'm fine," the elf stuttered, knowing she was once again blushing mightily; it was a wonder her face even bothered returning to its natural hue, as often as she'd turned red lately.

Sevei inhaled deeply through his nose, eying her closely. He too was grappling with a maelstrom of feelings, most of which he didn't think he had a name for. Slowly he smiled as he breathed in again before leaning away; under the scent of recent battle and blood was a softer smell he couldn't place. It was pleasant, and reminded him of open plains, deep forests, and vast oceans.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Both jumped and turned, to see Mikael stretched out on his side, facing them with an amused expression on his face.

"I see Sal is missing some clothing. Just what were you two doing?"

Sal said 'healing' just as Sevei said 'talking.' They looked at one another, pointed and said "what she/he said" simultaneously, then laughed in embarrassment and amazement. Mikael simply raised an eyebrow, then threw his cover back and sat up with a groan.

Sal sputtered when he uncovered himself. "Even if I'm missing clothing, I'm still fully covered! You, sir, are entirely missing your shirt!" When had he taken it off?! How long had he been watching them?!

The warlock gestured at his still-bound arm. "It's a mite uncomfortable to wear like this," he said dryly.

A knock on the door made them all turn warily, to see a troll enter a moment later.

"_I don't be speakin' Commin," _he said to Sal. "_I be 'ere ta tell ya dat ya being released this evenin'. Dere been no word 'bout n'elf priesties, so it be unnerstood dat ya'll be searchin. Thrall won't be chasin' ya off before ya get dat chance."_

_ "Will they be given their armor back?" _the druid asked, gesturing to the two males behind her.

"_Wen dey be safely out o' da city," _came the simple answer.

Sal bowed to him as he left, then translated the conversation for the others.

"I hope they didn't damage anything," Mikael muttered, picking at his ropes and sighing heavily.

"Mikael...why were you snooping around Orgrimmar?" Sal asked suddenly.

"Huh?" he stuttered, face reddening.

She crossed her legs beneath her, rocking back and forth gently. "Ortok told me you were captured because you were too close to the city. What were you doing out there?"

Mikael's face went blank. Sal leaned forward with an inquiring look, motioning for him to answer.

He mumbled something.

"What?"

He sighed heavily. "I'm searching for a very powerful rogue warlock. It's very important that I find him, and I had tracked his presence to Orgrimmar...somewhere he shouldn't be."

"Why do you seek him?" Sal asked.

"I seek Datavian as a test of my own skill, and for personal reasons...I don't feel like divulging those just yet, but he's wanted for crimes in Stormwind, and I intend to see he answers for his actions. I had tracked his presence here, and was observing the city for several days to best decide how I would manage to get to him."

"What happened then?" the elf prompted.

"I had given up trying to find a way to sneak in and was preparing to leave, to find somewhere to wait out Datavian's 'stay' in the city, when a guard patrol happened upon me. They hurried toward me even as I retreated, but I didn't loose a single spell their direction...not until they fired on me. I get angry when things attempt to hurt me," Mikael chuckled. He ran fingers through his tussled hair, shaking his head. "I got angry, turned to drop a distraction in their midst so I could escape, when a barrage of arcane magic blew me off my feet. By the time I'd recovered and gotten back to my feet, they were upon me and I had little choice but to fight to defend my life. At first they obviously meant to kill me, but as the fight dragged on and I held my own, their tactics changed and they quit trying to poke holes through me and instead focused on simply wearing me out. Their change of heart likely happened after they forced me to kill a few of them. Had they just let me run...no one need have died that day, not me, and not them."

They were interrupted by the arrival of a light breakfast – fresh bread, butter, and fruit juice. The same troll guard stood in the hallway, watching until they had eaten, then drew a dagger and went for Mikael. The warlock jumped up, his one arm out in front warily.

_"I just be cuttin' him loose, mon," _the troll said with a frown.

"He's going to remove your ropes, Mikael," Sal translated, watching closely as the guard moved toward the human again and - if not gently – carefully sawed through the ropes. Mikael stood perfectly still as he worked, then after the guard had left the room gingerly attempted to move his freed arm, hissing in pain.

"Oh Light, that hurts," he grunted through clenched teeth, eyes shining as they watered.

Sevei came around him and examined his back. "You are burned raw in some places, mostly scabbed over but a few are open and oozing. "

"Oh, it's only been tied to me for two weeks, I'm sure it's all fine," Mikael snapped, blinking his vision clear and kneading at his shoulder.

Sal gave him a firm swat across the back of the head. "Keep your temper to yourself and sit down, I will loosen your muscles and heal the rope burn."

Glaring and now rubbing his smarting head, Mikael sat on the edge of a bunk, Sal crawling in behind him. To his surprise, Sevei knelt in front of him, eying the burns that crossed his chest and the front of his arm.

"You fix his muscles, I shall handle his burns," the draenei said firmly.

Mikael blinked at him. "What? How?"

"With magic of my own."

"You...can heal and you didn't think to fix yourself?" the warlock asked incredulously.

Sevei shook his head. "I was rather weakened by my injury, if you recall. I have been recovering since then, a process hastened by Sal's assistance in healing me, and so I can easily handle something this small."

Idly, Sal ran her fingers through Mikael's hair, eyes on Sevei and ignoring Mikael's (somewhat embarrassed) protests.

"What are you, Sevei?" she asked quietly, further ignoring the warlock as she encountered tangles and then expertly twisted it into a neat bun at the nape of his neck to get it out of the way.

"I am what you would call a shaman. The spirits of the elements are my allies, I am proud to fight alongside them," he replied, bowing his head slightly toward her.

"Nature healing magics then, same as me," she said, smiling at him. He returned it, holding her gaze; Sal felt shivers race down her spine.

A loud 'ahem' brought them back to reality.

"Unless you plan to add ribbons now, could I suggest you do what you planned to do?" Mikael grumbled, his good hand prodding at the bun of hair.

"You would look dashing in a shade of light pink," Sevei said seriously, face not betraying any of the amusement he felt.

Mikael's retort was cut short as he groaned, Sal having gently nudged his ailing arm.

"This will hurt at first, but endure it for the few moments this should take," she warned. Carefully, Sal began to massage the frozen muscles of the warlock's arm, drawing involuntary moans and gasps as Mikael tried his best to ignore the pain shooting down his arm and up his neck. Sal began to chant quietly, sounding more like she was singing, as she began to weave rejuvenating magic spells of healing into the massage. The magic was melting away the rock-hard tension, and Mikael made fewer noises of pain and jerked less as everything began to sort itself out. Where her hands contacted them, the burns faded away; she then began to direct wisps of magic toward the raw spots on his lower back.

In front of him, Sevei was humming quietly with his eyes shut in concentration and two fingers of each hand hovering just in front of Mikael's chest, pointed at the worst of the rope burn. A soft blue glow formed at his fingertips then jumped across to the human's injuries, which disappeared immediately.

Sevei's eyes opened slowly, and before his forehead a symbol of pure light formed, pulsing gently as the draenei hummed still.

Mikael touched his chest in amazement, a serene look coming over his features. "What was that?" he asked, looking down at his now-smooth skin, not even noticing when Sal began to move and work his newly-healed arm.

"A gift," the draenei said simply. "granted to my people."

While Mikael, under Sal's orders, began to move his arm under his own power, Sal massaged his shoulder and at the same time studied Sevei. The symbol had faded moments ago, but the memory of the beautiful object caused her to still see it there, in the air before him. She watched him stand and step away, heading for...

"May I?" he asked, gesturing toward the stack of Sal's armor.

"Uh, sure," she said, not sure what he intended to do.

She watched him grab and turn over her chestpiece, pulling from it the discarded back half of her shirt which she'd left clinging inside the armor. He folded it neatly into a thin strip, then gathered his hair up and pulled it into a ponytail set high on the back of his skull, wrapping two inches of the hair at the base of the ponytail with the scrap of shirt. He nodded to her, slinging his hair over his shoulders. "Now I, too, feel more like myself," he said, drawing a smile from the elf.

Their afternoon passed uneventfully, full of aimless smalltalk and of Mikael working the strength back into his arm. No one came when their circadian rhythms told them it was near late afternoon, and Sevei once more fell into mediation, moments later confirming that it was indeed late afternoon.

"They should release us soon," Sal said then.

"But why at night?" Mikael asked, pulling on his shirt for the first that day.

"Perhaps to help hide our departure," Sevei offered, eyes still shut and unmoving from his meditative posture.

It was already quite dark outside when the door to their room opened to admit four orcs, two of them already familiar to the druid.

"_Ortok! Meraka!" _Sal greeted them, smiling warmly.

"Hello again, elf," Ortok replied in Common, much to the surprise of Mikael and Sevei. The orc waited a few moments, then roughly elbowed Meraka.

"..._druid,"_ the female orc finally said, a look of complete boredom on her face. Her hair today was formed into hundreds of very tiny braids, all gathered together at the nape of her neck with a simple black cloth tie; her robes were a nondescript green, nowhere near as impressive as the black and silver robes Sal had seen previously.

Mikael was openly gawking, completely ignoring the other two orcs and Ortok, all carrying cloth sacks upon their backs.

"I want to learn the levitation spell holding those up," he muttered. Ortok choked, he was laughing so hard; Meraka glowered at them, for it was an easy bet as to what body part the human was staring at.

"Armor," Ortok said, once he had caught his breath, gesturing at their burden. He swung his sack to the ground, the other two doing the same. "Weapons shall be returned to you once you are outside the city."

Sal waited silently as the two males donned their armor. Mikael's armor was simple - black leather pants, gloves, boots, and chestpiece, covered with blood red robes emblazoned with black demonic sigils.

Sevei pulled out shimmering silver mail, his shoulderguards shaped to resemble running wolves. He pulled it all on, the armor fitting close like a second skin and not making a single sound as the draenei bent and shifted.

"My gauntlets are missing," he said, looking over at Ortok.

"They are with your weapons and the rest of your belongings," the orc explained.

Sal reached out and patted Sevei's arm, smiling up at him. "In due time, when we're all free once more." She let her hand linger there as long as she dared, then pulled away as she noticed Ortok prodding at her armor - now piled in the floor - with his toe.

"It serves as little more than decorative wear now," she said, gesturing down at it. "It's in sorry shape."

"We had anticipated that, and while I doubt we'd have boots that would fit, we think we did find something that should fit your runty little build," he said, smirking briefly at her as she growled back at him over the 'runt' comment.

The armor they handed her wasn't as heavy as hers had been, but at least she would have something other than the cloth she wore now. It was pale leather, a very light tan, that had detachable shoulderguards and a top that was more of a wrap; Sal opted to leave the shoulders off, which left her right arm bare from the peak of her shoulder to her fingertips, missing a sleeve to match the one on her left arm that covered from shoulder to just above her elbow. The pants were plain and a bit too long, so she simply tucked them into the tops of her boots once she'd retrieved them from the floor in front of her bunk. All together, the armor fit decently enough; it was obviously made for someone taller, and likely for an archer judging by the sleeves - she imagined a pair of padded gauntlets would provide protection and cover to the flesh of the inner arm, which was always in danger of being whipped by the bowstring or a released arrow.

Ortok made her spin in place, pronouncing the armor acceptable after seeing it from all sides.

"What happens now?" Sal asked him, stuffing her ruined armor into one of the discarded sacks and tying it shut.

"That is why Meraka is here. She shall explain," Ortok answered, nodding to the silent mage.

The orc cleared her throat, gazing at them all impassively.

"_I'm to teleport you to a designated area outside of town, where your two friends and the rest of your belongings are waiting. I am then to accompany you on your search, assisting in any way that I can simply so things go faster. Then, you will be escorted back to your own territory, and ordered to remain out of ours and away from our cities and outposts."_

After Sal had finished translating, she nodded. "_Fair enough,"_ she said simply. 'Not that we have any true choice in the matter,' she added silently.

"_When you are ready, we shall depart,"_ Meraka sniffed, studying her fingers.

"Are you two ready?" Sal asked the males.

Mikael nodded at her. "More than ready to leave," he confirmed.

"I am ready," Sevei replied.

Sal turned and nodded to Merak, who began her preparations for her spellcasting. Ortok turned to the elf then, tapping her shoulder and then sticking his hand out.

"Luck be with you, good hunting," he said quietly.

The druid grasped his hand, smiling warmly. "Thank you Ortok. I hope next we meet, it will be as friends."

"I make no promises, but I can hope so as well," Ortok said with a grin, motioning for the guards to leave the room and then following them himself.

"_It is ready. Stand back," _Meraka ordered, Sal relaying the command. In the exact center of the room a portal appeared; Meraka stepped silently into it, closely followed by the other three.

Leaving the lit room and appearing in the dark night blinded them all for a moment, but then-

"_Saliea!"_

The elf was nearly knocked from her feet by a blow across her shoulders, but she made no move to defend herself as the blow hadn't been delivered out of contempt.

"Kakum!" she exclaimed, grinning broadly and blinding groping behind her for the troll, blinking to try and clear her vision. She found and patted his arm, vision clearing as her eyes adjusted finally to the moonlit night. Brock was standing just behind the hunter, his hammer slung over his shoulder and a smile on his bovine features.

_"And hello to you too, Brock," _she greeted him happily.

"_You've had a change of wardrobe," _he commented, nodding to her.

"_It's a long story," _she sighed, plucking at the front of her chestpiece with a shrug.

Meraka cleared her throat, gesturing at two others who stood with them. "_Your weapons," _she said simply, nodding at the male troll and the female undead who stood off to the side of the group. They moved forward, burdened by knapsacks slung over arms and shoulders.

Mikael and Sevei stepped forward too, picking their belongings from the bags. Sevei strapped on his gauntlets and carefully unwrapped two glimmering silver axes with wide, wicked-looking blades, which he hung from his belt.

The warlock, however, was glaring at the troll guard.

"That," he snapped, "is mine." the human was now pointing at a magnificent sword hanging from the guard's belt. It had a wire handguard, rubies set into the base of the straight blade, and the blade itself bore a red bloodgroove down its center and glowed a soft red in the dark.

Sal translated that for Meraka, who turned an icy gaze upon the guard.

"_Consider it payment, mon, fer holdin' yer junk," _the troll replied, crossing his arms in defiance.

A flurry of robes was all that heralded Mikael's movement; the warlock grabbed his sword with one hand, shoved two fingers of his other hand into the soft flesh of the guard, between the chin bone and the stiffer esophagus, and barked out a brief spell. The troll flew backwards, his belt and the sword remaining in Mikael's hands, the front of his leather jerkin smoking and his hair smoldering. Mikael removed his sword and threw the belt at the troll, who was now rolling around on the ground in a panic and patting out the small fires on his front.

Calmly the human belted on his weapon. "Be glad I didn't kill him," he said, when the undead growled and turned on him.

Meraka's glare stopped the remaining guard in her tracks, not understanding Mikael's words but grasping his intent well enough when the warlock set his feet and looked quite serious about defending himself.

"_Enough. It is his own fault for stealing. Lift a finger in their direction and I'll polymorph you," _the mage growled. The guard flinched at that threat and quickly backpedaled away, resheathing her half-drawn dirk and muttering to herself.

"_Thought so," _Meraka snapped, arms disappearing beneath her breasts as she crossed her arms; what had been intended to be intimidating fell flat, but no one really had any reason to point that out.

"I doubt she would have enjoyed life as a sheep," Sal commented, highly amused. She turned when Brock tapped her shoulder, then smiled widely when he pushed her own pack into her hands.

"_I'm afraid you still only have that little dagger," _he said, _"but you haven't seemed to need it yet."_

She hefted the pack, winking up at him. "_I'm not always an overgrown housecat you know."_

_ "Ya Orcy's improved," _Kakum said, elbowing her gently.

She giggled, then became aware that Sevei and Mikael were both staring at her blankly.

"Um. This is Kakum, and this is Brock. Brock saved me from Numskull, Kakum has agreed to help me find my brother and see us safely to Alliance territory."

"Nice to meet you - wait," Mikael said, shaking his head. "Aren't we going to have a slight problem here? The whole language barrier? We can't have Sal translating every little thing."

"_What's he saying?" _Kakum asked in Darnassian, drawing a look of utter surprise from the human.

"I - what? Is everyone here bilingual?" the warlock sputtered.

"Those two," Sal said, pointing at the troll and tauren, "Kakum speaks Darnassian and both were the ones teaching me Orcish. Orcish is really not so different from Common, just a bit more gutteral." She looked at Sevei then. "I don't suppose you speak anything other than Common and your native tongue, do you?"

"I know some demonic, and some furbolg, but I ask that you don't inquire how I learned," he answered quietly.

Sal looked at Meraka. "_Do you speak anything they would understand?" _The orc simply stared back at her silently for several long moments. "_I'll...take that as a 'no' then. Well!" _the elf went on, clapping her hands together. "First order of business should be instructing everyone in Common as we travel," she said, repeating herself in Orcish.

"_Why Common?" _Meraka sighed heavily.

"_Because if we're to eventually return to Alliance territory, it would be best if everyone could communicate. In addition, it's not so different from Orcish so you all should pick it up rather easily."_

"_If we're done here," _Meraka interrupted dryly, "_I suggest we get several hours away from this place before we stop for the evening."_

The mage picked up one of the extra knapsacks, Kakum retrieving the remaining two and securing them to his back. The undead picked up her burnt comrade and the two began to head back to Orgrimmar on foot as the others headed off in the other direction. Every so often the moon would slip behind cloud cover, but otherwise the night was well-lit; the air began to cool as the evening deepened, and Sal watched as most everyone pulled out traveling cloaks.

She wasn't really wanting to shift forms again, always preferring her natural elven form when she traveled in a group, but saw little choice was to be had in the matter; it was either grow a tail and fur, or get cold. The druid let out a startled noise as something heavy settled on her shoulders.

"Here, and don't get fur on it," Mikael said, having snuck up behind her and slipped his cloak about her shoulders, smiling down at her.

"What? Are you sure?" she asked, reaching to pull it from her and hand it back.

"I'm in heavy robes and wouldn't have needed it anyway," he said firmly, resettling it on her shoulders and handing her the clasp for it.

"Oh. Thank you, then," Sal replied quietly, smiling shyly as she took the clasp - a golden clip fashioned into an ivy plant pattern - and secured the cloak to her. It was longer than her own had been, but that was no surprise as the human was much taller than she; soon enough she was comfortably warm and found that the cloak exuded a spicy scent, like dried herbs in the sunshine. She sniffed at it and smiled, wondering if all of Mikael's things smelled like this, and what was the smell caused by? Raising her gaze, she saw Sevei looking at her, a thoughtful - or maybe, wistful? - look on his face. When she smiled at him, he offered a small one in return and then turned his attention elsewhere. She glanced to the side and saw Mikael watching her; he smiled and looked away, purposely slowing to fall back behind her once he noticed her attention on him.

'I wonder if Sevei's cloak smells like him,' she found herself wondering, blushing as she thought it.

They had plodded on steadily southwest for several hours when Meraka halted them. Wordlessly she took one of the packs from Kakum and pulled from it a bedroll before handing it back to the troll.

They all looked at one another silently a moment, then Kakum shrugged.

"_Guess we be stoppin here," _he said lightly. He slung the packs off his back, then tossed back the one Meraka had initially taken from him, the bag landing in the dust at her feet. "_Tote yer own junk, mon."_

Sal was gathering stones, pushing them into a circle around a shallow hole she'd hastily dug and cleared of dead grass. "_How far until the caverns?"_

Brock opened his pack and pulled out his map - and also a flint and steel, which he handed to the druid. With Mikael and Kakum both gathering fuel for a fire, in no time Sal had sparked and formed a small blaze; Brock studied the map by the firelight as the hunter built up the flames.

"_I think we're two days, walking at a brisk pace, from the caverns," _the tauren finally decided.

Kakum dusted his hands and stood, stretching and reaching for his bow. "_Be back wit' dinnar" _was all the explanation he gave as he strode off into the dark.

The others settled around the fire; Sal found herself sandwiched between Sevei and Brock. The tauren and the warlock, sitting on the other side of Brock, were clumsily conversing in Darnassian, neither having a good grasp on the language; Brock was - and always would be - having trouble pronouncing some words. Meraka, on the far side of the fire and mostly apart from the rest of them, was as unsociable as ever; she ignored them all as she pulled out a spellbook to peruse.

So that left Sal and Sevei, sitting side by side in silence. It felt awkward to the elf; she felt she should be talking to him, but at the same time felt shy. He was staring into the fire, she saw, glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes. As she covertly looked at him, he blinked then shifted to partially face her.

"I heard the tauren call you something. Was that your full name?"

She nodded. "Saliea. Saliea Silvermist, if you want it in full."

"Saliea," he repeated slowly. "It is a pretty name...fitting for the woman who bears it."

"I - oh - I- thank you," she stuttered, quickly averting her eyes and blushing.

"An-and yours?" she asked, in an attempt to cover up how flustered she now was.

Sevei chuckled, clearing his throat. "I am rather embarrassed by it, actually."

'You can't possibly be more embarrassed than I am,' she thought, shrinking back into the cloak around her shoulders as she thought it.

"It can't be that bad. Tell me, please?"

She saw, with some satisfaction, that now he was looking a little dark in the face - and it wasn't from the firelight dancing across his features.

"Well, I do not possess a surname - my people generally do not bother with family names - but I do possess a title of sorts, that serves as one. I've had it since my early childhood," he said slowly. Sheepishly, he scratched the back of his head. "I am called Sevei...of the Iron Will."

"There's nothing wrong with that name," Sal giggled, reaching out to pat his arm.

"Eh heh, you really think so?" he asked, clearing his throat and looking away. "I am told I was an especially stubborn child, hence my 'title.' My family is not one of those that kept our ancestral surname, so I am stuck with what others call me."

Stifling giggles with her free hand, Sal allowed her other to move up to rest upon his shoulder, squeezing softly and admiring the firelight and moonlight glinting off the running wolves inscribed into his armor.

"I was a stubborn young one too...I had to be, being half the size of all my peers," she laughed. "When I finally grew teeth and claws, I was given the nickname 'tiny terror.'"

"You are quite small," he agreed, looking at her once more. "I believe your size is not common among your people?"

"No, I..." she trailed off, eyes sliding to the ground. "I was born a bit too early." Her smile took on a tinge of sadness then; Sevei looked at her closely, frowning.

"I have upset you..." he said quietly. "Forgive me."

"No, I'm fine," she assured him, eyes losing their distant look and focusing back on the draenei. "I just...that just brought up old memories I hadn't visited in a while."

"Unpleasant ones?"

"Some happy, some sad," she corrected. "My mother died when she went into labor too early. She died, and I myself barely survived. That, coupled with the fact my mother was, I am told, a slender woman herself, has caused my smaller size. I do not think I would have made it at all had priests and druids not fought to keep me alive."

He reached up and took her hand off his shoulder, holding it tenderly in one of his own. "I still seek your forgiveness for upsetting you. Had I know...I am sorry."

"Forgiven then," the druid replied, pressing her fingers into his own, amazed at how completely his hand engulfed hers. "And you, then? Are all your kind this size?"

Sevei flattened her hand against his, lining their fingers up together, pressing the heel of his palm against hers. "By the Light, you really are a tiny thing," he chuckled, examining their hands together a few moments before letting his drop away. Sal rubbed at her hand as she drew it back within the folds of her borrowed cloak; it was distinctly cold in those places where it had touched Sevei, the heat of his touch a memory on her skin.

"As for your question, yes and no. I am an average-sized male, there are others bigger and smaller than me. Our females are much smaller. Shorter, without as much muscle."

"And taller than me," Sal teased.

Sevei smiled back. "That's not saying much," he retorted, laughing when she lunged at him, intercepting the playful slap she'd aimed his way, grasping both her hands in both of his.

"A question for you, then," he laughed, keeping her hands securely held even as she giggled and squirmed. "Druids can change forms, I'm told. Do you accidentally meow when still an elf?"

"Only when surprised and it happens to slip out," Sal answered, falling still. "I do tend to bite whenever I feel like it however," she said, grinning wickedly.

"Oh ho!" he exclaimed, releasing her in mock horror. "I just ask you show mercy and leave no visible marks!"

They laughed together, Sal's fading away into a...

"You just purred!" Sevei was really laughing now, as Sal slapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide.

"I - you - I - shush!" she sputtered, turning bright red. "I-I've spent over half my life with fur and a tail, some things carry over!" She shrank into her cloak, nearly disappearing within it. She heard a shuffle of dirt, then felt a strip of warmth down her outer thigh. Sevei elbowed her gently, and she peeked out at him.

"Hey," he said quietly, close enough that she could feel his breath warm on her face. "There is no need to feel ashamed or embarrassed. After all, I too have a tail," he smiled, patting his thick tail that was curled on the other side of him; Sal noticed that it, too, was decorated with a copper and gold band, like the ones he wore on the tendrils under his chin. He nudged her again, leaning against her.

"Won't you come back out?"

"When I don't feel like such a fool," came her reply. "I can't have painted a very respectful portrait of druids, for you."

She heard him chuckle then, and they fell silent; Sevei did not move away, maintaining that contact of shoulders and legs. Sal prayed he couldn't hear the beating of her heart over the crackle of the fire, it was beating so quickly and so loudly (to her).

Inwardly, her emotions clashed. She'd been closer to other males (mainly human and night elves, of course) and none had the effect on her that this draenei did. Mikael was handsome, she would willingly admit that, and while he brought a certain degree of warmth to her face he didn't cause such conflicted, strange emotions within her. What, then, was so different about Sevei?

'He has an accent,' she concluded lamely, before promptly grinding the heels of her palms into her eyes and mentally groaning.

"A tempory infatuation, that is all," she whispered under her breath.

Sevei shifted beside her and gently poked her side, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm just, just tired," she lied, smiling.

He nodded, turning his attention back to the fire, much to Sal's relief (and, quite possibly, disappointment).

"_Dinnar's 'ere," _came a call from the dark. Kakum strode into view a moment later, a young gazelle slung over his shoulder, gutted and mostly skinned. "_Had to walk furder den I thought, ta find a tree,"_ he explained, tossing down two 'y' shaped branches and a single straight, crudely sharpened and cleaned branch. The troll quickly finished dressing the young animal as his boar Stinky wandered into the campsite, Kakum's knapsack strapped to his back. The animal wandered up to Sal, bumping at her hands with his snout and snorting loudly.

"_Dere be tubers in dere," _Kakum said, banging the 'y' branches into the ground to form the support for a spit; he carefully impaled the dead gazelle with the sharpened stick and set it across the fire to cook.

Sal pulled out the tubers and pushed them into the coals to bake as the hunter built the fire under the 'dinnar.' As the elf settled back into her spot, Sevei leaned in toward her, propping himself up with an arm he slid behind her.

"What is our plan, for when we reach the caverns?" he asked quietly.

She felt incredibly self conscious, with him so close.

"I um...I guess we look for any signs of my brother...or of that wretched Numskull and his band of hooligans," she growled out that last part, eyes narrowing, her anger momentarily blanking out all other emotion. "If they've done anything...if they've harmed him in any way..."

She sucked in a gasp, her heart skipping a few beats, when he suddenly hugged her close to his side - a brief embrace, then released her.

"I wish to help you find him, and we will, no matter how long it takes," he said, before scooting away and getting to his feet, then turning to walk out into the dark.

She pulled the cloak in closer around her, feeling a mixture of elation and determination, a funny floating sensation in her gut. To distract her mind, she busied herself with checking the tubers, raking new embers over them.

Mikael and Brock, having exhausted their limited vocabulary, sat in comfortable silence; Brock had returned to his map, and the warlock was idly poking at the fire with a twig. Kakum sat nearest the flames, tending to the spit and occasionally slitting the surface of the gazelle to let fat and juices splatter and sizzle down into the fire. Meraka had not moved, and Sevei had disappeared completely from sight; Sal scrutinized her companions one by one, shaking her head.

'What an odd group we make...' she thought, pausing to gently push Stinky away from the roasting tubers.

Kakum later announced that the meat was cooked, moving it away from the flames and propping it against one of the supports with the other end of the stick resting on the ground, the gazelle suspended in the middle. The other support branch he went at with a hatchet he pulled from his bags, breaking it down into several sizable sharp pokers, which he strung sliced meat on; he handed one kebab to everyone, glancing around.

"_Where be da' hoofsie?" _he asked. As though his words had summoned him, Sevei suddenly materialized out of the dark at Kakum's side. The troll started and nearly fell over in surprise. "_Gah! Don' be doin' dat, mon!"_

The draenei understood the intent, if not the words, and bowed his head in apology. He accepted his portion of meat silently, then retrieved a tuber from where Sal had arranged them on a rock ringing the fire. He returned to his seat beside Sal, though nowhere near as close as he'd been earlier; the druid couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment, which she quickly hid.

"Where did you disappear to?" Mikael asked him then, splitting the skin of his tuber and sitting it out to cool.

"Scouting," came the answer which was, in fact, a lie. In truth, the shaman had gone out of sight, alone, to allow his thoughts to clear. He had let emotion rule him just a tad too much earlier.

Sal repeated it in Orcish when Brock had sent an inquisitive look her direction, and Kakum waved a hand in dismissal.

"_Don' be worryin' 'bout it mon. Nutin round here but da occasional hyena, and dey won' attack a group s'big as ours. We only gotta worry 'bout runnin' in ta Numskull."_

Sal translated that to Common, and this time it was Mikael who looked unconcerned.

"We'll have a guard tonight, do not worry yourselves about that," the warlock said. He made a simple hand gesture and called out "Jakpit!"

There was a flash of green, a whiff of sulfur smoke, and then sitting at the warlock's feet was an ugly little imp.

"This is my minion, Jakpit," Mikael explained, patting the thing on its head. "He'll keep watch for us tonight, won't you?"

"YesyesIcertainlywillMaster," it chittered in an annoying squeak of a voice.

"He's bound to me, totally loyal," Mikael went on. "If anything seems amiss, he will wake me. If anything attacks, he will sound the alarm and wake us all."

"How do you know you can trust it?" Sevei asked with a snort, dislike apparent on his face.

"MasterproctectsmesoIprotectM aster," the imp squeaked, hopping up and down. "Hekeepsotherthingsfromenslav ingoreatingme. IamgratefultoMasterverygrate ful."

"We can trust him," the human said firmly. Jakpit sat by his side and quivered, eyes darting all around, though whether he was terrified or simply overexcited wasn't apparent.

The rest of their dinner was eaten in silence, Kakum taking the remains and carrying it far from their campsite to bury it.

Sal left Sevei's side and walked up behind Mikael, dropping his cloak over his head.

"Won't you be needing this?" he asked, voice muffled under the fabric.

"You said not to get fur on it," she reminded him, laughing. "I intend to sleep as a cat."

Mikael shrugged, pulling the cloak from his head. "Very well then. You're still welcome to use it, though...and the offer to share my blanket still stands," he added after a moment.

She ruffled his hair, smiling somewhat self-consciously at him, then retreated to her previous spot, sinking down and growing, until she was a cat once again; she wrapped her tail around her hind legs before stretching out with a yawn. With a flick of her ears, she turned and butted her head into the draenei's side. When he looked down at her in surprise, she purred loudly.

"There. Does it seem more in place now?" she asked, twitching her whiskers as though she was smiling. Her projected voice was a bit deeper, and more...growly, than normal, but the words would be clear enough to one listening.

A smile brightened his face. "Good night, tiny terror," he chuckled.

She bared her teeth in a grin, ears flattening, then perking when he reached over and patted her head. Purring, she rested her head on her paws, watching as everyone settled down for the night, Kakum banking the fire.

Sevei's sleep that night was full of dreams with soft hands on his face, warm bodies at his side, and quiet laughter that warmed his heart and mind. Whispers promising grand adventures echoed in his mind – he remembered the words of his father, when the male had explained romance to him. He had called it the grandest adventure anyone could take, to be willing to give the heart freely to another. And to give the heart so freely, it usually ended in a soft caress of lips across one's own...

The draenei jerked awake, saw that the fire had died down; it was still dark, and everyone but Jakpit slept soundly. The shaman felt a profound sense of longing as he calmed himself and fell back asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day they moved swiftly, filling the time with Sal - and sometimes Mikael, chiming in in Darnassian - teaching the three Horde Common. By midday they knew simple sentence structure and phrases, though getting Meraka to speak in any language was still a seemingly impossible task.

"We reach the caverns tomorrow morning," Brock said later that night around their campfire, the tauren feeling slightly pleased as he said it clearly in Common.

"We should enter in the morning," Mikael said, nodding to the tauren. "While I am always for the element of surprise, we want to be able to find your brother quickly. If the druids are about, that's fine - they may have information on his whereabouts, though I believe night elves are mostly nocturnal?" Saliea nodded at him. "Then the druids ought to be around, but Numskull and his cronies may not be. And if we approach while the druids are awake and aware, we'll seem like less of a threat."

"A good plan," Sevei agreed. "We would not want to seem hostile to these druids Saliea mentioned."

Sal suppressed a pleasant shiver, hearing him speak her full name in that accent of his and turned it into a nod. "They are a hostile bunch themselves, to be honest. They may recognize me, so I would like to avoid harming them if at all possible. Some of them aren't quite so...mad, as their other fellows."

Kakum suddenly hushed them all. "...ye hear dat?" he asked in a whisper, eyes narrowing.

They all fell totally silent, ears straining to hear anything they could.

"...I hear nothing," Mikael said quietly a moment later, looking at the hunter.

"My point exactly mon," came the reply. "No sound. At all."

Indeed, even the insects had fallen silent. Sevei half-shut his eyes, falling within himself to listen with both his ears and with the aid of the elemental spirits that permeated the world, his face blank of all emotion. "...we are surrounded," he said slowly, his voice hushed. "They know we're aware something approaches...I cannot tell who, what, or how many, only that they are being cautious."

Sal shifted from her cross-legged position to sit on her knees, partially bent over so she could spring forward the moment she needed to, changing forms as she went. Whistling out of the dark flew two objects, daggers with black hilts and blades stained a sickly green. The first one knicked Sal's ear, the other one following closely behind to sink into her shoulder nearly to the hilt; Sal cried out and fell sideways, hands reaching to tear the weapon free. Even as she dropped and her companions around the fire leaped to their feet, a roaring warcry sounded from the night and dark figures rushed into the firelight.

"Leave da druid to me!" a loud shout sounded out above the others as orcs, trolls, and a single undead spellcaster began their attack.

Sal's hands were fumbling for the dagger in her shoulder, but the injured arm was totally numb, and she was alarmed to realize that the numbness was spreading, and spreading rapidly, through the rest of her body. As her fingers finally groped around and closed on the hilt, that hand ceased following the commands her brain was sending it, and dropped senselessly to the dirt as the rest of the druid slumped helplessly.

'Poison, I've been poisoned,' she thought grimly, but found herself unable to reach to her connection to the natural world, to call forth the energies that would purge the poison from her.

Her eyes still moved, and she continued to be able to draw breath, but otherwise she could only lay there and watch the wild fight rapidly unfolding around her.

Mikael's sword glinted a fiery red as it dove and spun, beautifully parrying blows and turning blades, the warlock actually disarming one of his opponents; the dagger was torn from the attacking orc's hand and sent soaring, following closely by a few fingers of its wielder. The attackers were ignoring the fallen druid, following the command of whomever it had been that yelled earlier, and were focusing on driving the group apart, singling them out. Mikael wasn't allowing that, and by the looks of things the three attacking him - the fingerless orc, a mace-wielding troll, and the undead magic user - weren't enough to deter the warlock from working his way over and standing protectively over Sal.

His sword flared with magic, burning armor and skin where it contacted, and the human was deftly casting simple spells with his free hand; the spells did little more than distract, but for the deadly battlecaster a simple distraction was enough to allow him to dispatch a foe. The undead mage was backing up, hands working a spell as he chanted. He released it, it flying at Mikael like a shot from a cannon, but a glowing green blur intercepted it and with a loud "BAA!" Jakpit dropped to the ground on dainty hooves, now a green-tinted sheep.

The undead swore and began to cast once again even as Mikael pointed his sword and hissed a spell of his own. Now, the mage clawed at his throat as he sputtered gutteral hisses and grunts, forced to speak in Demonic by the warlock's curse and unable to cast his spells until he figured out how to remove the tongue-tangling spell.

Mikael sucked in his gut and felt the wind caused by a mighty swing of that mace the troll fought with, and in reflex punched straight out and slammed the handguard of his sword squarely between the tusks, feeling teeth crunch against metal. Head snapping back, the troll fell away and Mikael kicked out to prevent him from falling on top of the prone druid as he flashed his blade up and rolled it, catching the orc's thrust and turning it aside.

"Sal! Sal!" he grunted, sparing a glance down at her. The orc, a dagger in his uninjured hand, struck out and the human jerked sideways, a lock of black hair fluttering to the ground just inches from Sal's nose. Mikael stabbed down, slicing deep into the orc's foot; when the orc howled and threw a punch at him reflexively, Mikael caught the wrist and sidestepped, eyes flashing a venomous green as he rapidly completed a spellcasting. A feeling of unimaginable terror filled the orc, and he stumbled from the warlock and began to run, limping weirdly thanks to the stab wound in his foot.

"Sal!" Mikael said again, dropping down beside her and feeling for her pulse. All she could do was look up at him helplessly, wanting to tell him what was wrong but unable to.

* * *

Kakum was fighting hand to hand with an ugly orc, so badly scarred that the other hardly had anything worth calling a face. The troll was forced to fight with only the small hatchet he normally used to chop firewood, having been sharpening the blade when the fight began and unable to gain enough of an opening to grab his sword laying on the ground near the fire.

Brock fought nearby, keeping attackers back from the spellcasting Meraka with wide sweeps of his heavy hammer. The female orc finished her spell and it hit the orc leaping for her, twin maces rushing forward; the orc dropped to the earth, now a green and brown speckled frog, and Meraka punted him as hard as she could, sending his tiny form out into the dark. The mage loosened the front of her robes, her hair flying wildly as she began to gather arcane energy for whatever spell she was seemingly going to cast next. The resulting explosion blew back the five around her and Brock, knocked the ugly orc from his feet - Kakum dove to grab his sword - and nearly took Sevei from his feet, who was fighting four opponents of his own nearby.

The draenei had initially been driven from the druid in the first rush; he had moved to grab her, to scoop her up into his arms and shield her, when a heavy ax came out of the night and clipped his side, banging off his mail armor and spinning him heavily to the earth and away from Saliea. He had leapt to his feet, only to find these four - two orcs, two trolls - standing between him and the fallen night elf, and was immediately forced to defend himself. His axes flashed in the firelight, parrying and deflecting, constantly shuffling his feet to keep the four from ringing him in.

Totems flared into existence around him, filling him with the strength of the earth and the speed of the wind, and as an afterthought he summoned a fiery totem that began to spit molten rock at the nearest attacker; the orc screeched in pain as his left side was splashed and set aflame, stumbling away and beating at his melting armor.

"Ya be all alone, shaman," a troll said, grinning nastily. "Dey ain't helpin' ya."

"I am never alone," he retorted, dropping flat to the ground as the earth erupted behind him.

Reaching over the shaman's head, the summoned earth elemental caught the sneering troll in the chest with a powerful punch, dropping him to the ground without a single word, and then reared up and fell over one of the orcs; with a terrified scream, the orc disappeared into the ground with the elemental. The remaining troll looked at his burning companion, at the troll on the ground - dead - and at the blank patch of earth where the elemental had dragged the other orc to an abrupt death. With a shout, he threw down his weapon and ran in terror, disappearing into the night. Seeing their fellow fleeing, the remaining few that still accosted Meraka and Brock turned and fled as well; Kakum and the scarred orc still fought on, but the fight was brought to an abrupt end when Brock crushed the orc's skull in with one blow.

Sevei scrambled to where Mikael knelt over Saliea, dropping to his knees beside her and reaching hands for the knifewound. As Mikael gently but quickly pulled the blade free, Sevei applied glowing hands to the wound, cupping his hands on both sides to be sure the magic traveled the entirety of the puncture.

"Why doesn't she move?" the warlock asked, glaring at the offending dagger. Sevei spared it a glance, then growled.

"Likely poisoned," he said, muttering the proper incantation. Flecks of light, like snow flurries, dropped from his fingers and sank into her skin, seeking and dispelling the poison.

Sal inhaled sharply, then twitched her fingers, beginning to regain the ability to move. Mikael pulled her up and into a hug, whistling softly in relief. Sevei sat back on his haunches and smiled; he was glad, incredibly glad, that the druid was okay...but he wished that it was he, and not the warlock, who now held her.

And frankly, that thought somewhat scared him as he realized what he was thinking.

"Does anyone else require healing?" he asked, clearing his throat and dispelling his totems with a wave of his hand. He set his mind to mending the minor cuts and scrapes of the rest of them, including a thin gash the warlock wore on his cheek.

"And here I thought it was only hair," the human commented, fingers finding the thread-thin white scar on his face and rubbing at it thoughtfully. "I didn't even feel the - ah," he interrupted himself, grimacing and rubbing at his chest. A small twinge, like a muscle spasm, came and then faded...and then came again. Irritably, he rubbed at it. "Fine time for a pulled muscle," he grumbled good-naturedly, presenting a bemused face to them all, smiling. He turned, to see Meraka staring hard at him; he raised an eyebrow at her, and she looked away, looking angry.

Near the fire, Saliea had her chestpiece loosened and pulled back from her shoulder, Sevei gently prodding at it to insure it had healed entirely. She shivered at his touch, then forced a grimace on her face when the male looked at her in alarm.

"Sorry, it hurt a little," she lied, smiling shyly.

"It seems to be healed well enough. When you are rested - _rested," _he said, emphasizing the word with a raised finger, "you may apply your own magic if you chose."

"I...thank you, Sevei," she said quietly, blushing slightly as she pulled her armor back on and secured it. The smile he flashed her gave her a fluttery feeling in her stomach.

"I am merely glad, that you are okay," he replied, getting to his feet. "I...am going to go scout, to see if any remain in the area."

Sal watched him walk out into the dark once more, not realizing that once again scouting was not the shaman's intention.

'Be careful, Sevei,' she thought worriedly. Her eyes then turned to her friends; Brock was cleaning gore from his weapon, Kakum was sharpening his sword. Meraka was muttering nonstop over a hole in her robes, and Mikael sat off to the side by himself, slightly away from the others, rubbing at his chest and staring thoughtfully out into the night.

The smell of blood drew her attention, and she looked down to see that Sevei's axes, both blood-coated, lay in the dirt at her side. She reached out a hand for them, eyes widening as she thought of the draenei out scouting without his weapons at his side.

Brock's gaze followed her's, and saw the weapons.

"_He seems quite capable, I doubt he would have gone out without them, if he didn't think he could handle himself without them."_

"_I hope you're right," _ she whispered.

Kakum was dragging the dead from the campsite, ankles serving as a handhold. They settled into a vigilant ease, eyes turned outward but outwardly calm. Mikael stood, pulling the sleeves of his robes up as he launched into spellcasting. There was a brief wisp of white smoke, then...nothing.

Brock looked at him. "Did it fail?"

"What? Oh!" Mikael exclaimed, laughing. "Elervina, become visible please."

There was sultry giggle, then slowly a succubus faded into view, fingers dancing along the whip hung from her side. Kakum came back, scrubbing bloody dirt from his hands and nearly walked face-first into the demon; he looked up and nearly fell over, shouting in alarm.

"_Wat da hell is dat?!" _he growled, stomping a foot. "_Ye all TRYIN' ta kill me?"_

Sal covered her mouth, laughing, feeling her eyes water. "_It's a minion of Mikael's. I imagine it's our guardian for the night."_

"Okay, fade away Elervina," Mikael chuckled. The succubus went invisible once more with a heavy sigh. "She'll watch tonight...she can cause quite a few problems if they decide to come back. Males are her specialty, obviously."

They sat in silence an hour or so longer, Sevei finally returning; Sal nudged his weapons toward him and the draenei strapped them back on.

"I cleaned them, for you," she said quietly.

"Thank you," he murmured with a smile. "I hadn't realized I'd left them here, and still bloody."

She waited for him to sit, then slid over next to him as close as she dared.

"Did you see signs of any of them?"

Sevei nodded sharply. "I saw the tracks they left coming in, and judging by the tracks left I'd say only three of those who attacked actually left together. There were signs of the others leaving in other directions, and there were tracks of a single individual that came close, but did not engage in combat."

She nodded. "It is likely they won't come back tonight, not after the beating we - well, the rest of you - gave them."

He inched his hand over, patting her's. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I feel sleepy, that's all," the elf replied, using her other hand to stifle a yawn.

The draenei retrieved his cloak from his pack, then returned and wrapped it securely around her shoulders.

"You should rest, if we're to leave early in the morning," the shaman said quietly, smiling down at her. "I do not intend to sleep just yet."

She blushed bright red, returning his smile shyly. The draenei stood, moving off to confer with Kakum as best he could with the troll's limited grasp of Common. Sal, making certain no one was watching her, sniffed the cloak wrapped around her and confirmed that it did, in fact, smell just as nicely as she thought the shaman did. Again she got that fluttery feeling in her gut as she snuggled back into the cloak, smiling to herself.

Across the fire someone had indeed been watching her and the draenei. Mikael suppressed the unexpected surge of jealousy he felt as Sevei tucked the small elf into his cloak and then moved away; watching the elf smile to herself was almost more than Mikael could stand, and the intensity of the jealous feeling surprised him.

* * *

The following morning, a sorely depressed Kakum lead the group into the caverns; they had come across the remnants of a campsite that their attackers from the previous night had likely used, and there in the camp - still on the spit - they had found the remains of the troll's pet Stinky. The hunter was now unsuccessfully trying to distract himself from his grief by putting all his effort into locating any sort of trail that might have been left behind by the ones responsible for Sal's brother's disappearance.

Not too far from the attacker's campsite Kakum located a rather old trail that he believed would lead them to the missing night elf - it was made up of several prints, some of them matching those left behind by the fleeing attackers, and in the midst of those prints were occasional scuff marks and twin furrows, likely left behind by someone being dragged and showing resistance.

So they stepped into the darkened opening of the caverns, moving in deeper and only pausing to dispatch odd ooze creatures that regularly rose from the muck and struck out at them.

"Main entrance ahead," Kakum called from over his shoulder a little while later. They rounded a bend and crossed a deep pool of water to see the troll crouched down, fingers tracing in the dust a well-defined bootprint; the hunter stood and pointed at another yawning cavern entrance across the way.

"Wait," Mikael ordered, rushing ahead of them and turning to face them all. "From here on, I lead."

"Ya? Ya don' da first ting about trackin," Kakum scoffed, crossing his arms with a snort.

Mikael smiled grimly. "I don't need to. Upon entering these caverns I felt a demonic presence - poorly shielded, like they're trying to hide - and it has only gotten stronger the further we've gone in. I am the only one who can tell when danger is coming and effectively counter a demon should we be attacked, so I should lead."

"_...I unnerstood about half o' dat," _Kakum sighed in Orcish, scratching his head. "Fine, ya lead, waddever yer reason is."

Sal stepped in front of the warlock, eying him. "Demons? Here? You are certain?" she asked sharply.

Mikael nodded. "I think we should move quickly. Your brother is in danger if he is still here."

They hurried toward the next cavern, and as they moved a curious scent was also becoming stronger.

"What is that?" Brock asked, cupping a hand over his nose as they entered the cave and the smell turned sour and overwhelming.

The passageway ahead went into another turn, and Mikael gagged when he peered down it.

"Oh...oh Light..."

Sal pressed around him and stopped in her tracks, fighting the urge to vomit. Strewn in the passageway, as far as she could see before the next turn, were the druids of the Fang...what was left of them. The ground was thick with sticky blood, severed limbs and mangled gobbets of raw meat whose origins weren't apparent. Those bodies that weren't hacked to pieces were covered in thin black tendrils, like masses of dark thread tangled beneath the surface of their skin. The air was absolutely rancid, suffocating almost, and Sal had to swallow hard to keep from losing her breakfast.

Meraka eyed the carnage emotionlessly. "Is..your brother-"

"No. He is not among the dead," Sal answered quickly.

"That you can tell," the orc muttered quietly even as Saliea thought the same thing, as the elf began to pick her way through he carnage, doing her best to avoid falling or stepping on body parts.

"Why," Mikael started, only to have to pause to swallow hard. "Why were you here in the first place, Sal?"

"The druids here make - made," she corrected herself, "made weapons and armor of all kinds. The men my brother and I traveled with were here to seek the craftsmanship of the druids here – their weapons are enchanted to poison their victims. My brother and I were sent along with them, explained away as a good will gesture, when actually we were here to observe the druids themselves and look for missing messengers. The druids of the Fang are not known for being very...friendly. And they rarely, if ever, sell their created weapons, but we didn't mention that fact to the men we were traveling with."

"Why make weapons if you don't plan on selling them?" Mikael muttered under his breath.

"Wat happened den?" Kakum asked, appearing quite unconcerned with avoiding the worst of the gore beneath his feet.

"We approached and were carefully sending word to the druids that we were here. We never made it to the main living area, however. Numskull and his group ambushed us at the river and drove us away...my brother disappeared in the fighting," she said quietly.

The hallway widened and spilled them out into a wide and high-ceiling opening, the ground immediately ahead falling away in a short cliff that dropped down to a shallow river. There were a few druids face down in the stream, untouched except for the strange black masses of tendrils that marred their visible skin.

It was eerily quiet, only the soft lapping of the stream on the stone to be heard. Sal turned to look at Mikael, who simply shook his head.

"The entire area is saturated with demonic energy," he said slowly. "They could be anywhere now."

"Now what?" Brock asked, eyes darting all around to per closely at every shadow.

Sal took a deep breath as everyone's eyes eventually turned to her. "We go up. Even if my brother is...even if he is no longer here, something happened to cause this slaughter. I want to find out what did this."

"Agreed," Meraka said firmly. "We are far too close to the Crossroads, and the neutral port of Ratchet, to not investigate the cause of this."

Cautiously they made their way down the slope and began sloshing their way through the river, heading for an area Sal claimed had waterfalls and marked the beginning of the living areas for the druids.

Crocolisks floated in the water, eying them, intruders in their watery home.

"Why would they attack?" Sevei said, when Brock commented on the lack of aggression from the creatures. "They have been...well fed recently."

The ground soon angled up, and chopped remains of huge plant-like creatures began to become mixed in with the druids and their serpent pets.

Finally, their path stopped abruptly, the ledge dropping away several feet with a waterfall thundering through the gap before the next ledge and the one they stood on; Kakum gauged it to be a six foot gap, leaning carefully over the edge, his bristly hair whipping about in the breeze caused by the falling water.

"Do you think we could make that jump?" Brock asked, eying it.

"It should be an easy - Sal!" Mikael exclaimed, eyes wide as the druid ran passed him and jumped, traveling through and disappearing behind the curtain of water.

"I cleared it by several feet," she called back, just loud enough to be heard over the water. "Go ahead and jump."

She wrung out her ponytail, meaning to wait for the others, but then something else reached her ears over the roar of the water. Straining, it sounded like...chanting.

She melted to her feline form just as Mikael came exploding through the water, landing on his feet and going into a roll to break his momentum. He had removed his robes, clad now only in his sleeveless black leather chestpiece, pants, and boots; his hair was plastered to his head and water ran off him in rivulets as he grumbled and sluiced water off himself with his hands.

"Stay here," she told him. When he protested, she simply flicked her tail and seemingly melted into the shadows along the wall, creeping ahead toward the chanting she could hear.

She went up the slope to find the narrow hallway opened into what appeared to be a large meeting place. As she slunk forward, the chanting grew louder and she could make out tall, bulky shapes poorly lit by flickering torch light; they were gathered in a circle, bowed down as though in prayer, surrounded by twelve torches, nine of which were lit. These hunched figures were the source of the chanting, and as she inched closer she could tell that they were crimson furred satyrs.

Something cold and limp brushed her shoulder then and she jumped; she nearly cried out in horror when she saw that it was the tail tip of an enormous serpent, pinned to the wall with a spear through its center. The scale patterns marked this creature not as an actual snake, but as a shape-shifted druid, likely one of the lieutenants of the druids, judging by size and patterning. She took a steadying breath, gave the corpse one last look, then pushed further forward.

"You have failed us, again."

She froze at the voice, looking up to see one of the kneeling, chanting satyrs stand; her eyes widened when she took in his form. He was easily the biggest satyr she'd ever seen, and possessed no fur or tail. His hands ended in human-like hands that had unnaturally long black fingernails, his feet were hooves, and he wore only a simple black cloth wrapped around his hips that left his chest and legs bare and displayed the glowing red sigils that ran their lengths.

"I get her, I swear," came a response. Sal's eyes roved the room until she spotted the speaker. Numskull sat against the far wall, looking angry, his fists clenched and braced against the floor.

"You promised us five, and have yet to deliver on your promise. You did not even get the others' remains to us quickly enough so that their souls would be useful. You have greatly disappointed me."

"She had friends with her. I WILL get her, and den? I'll get dat paladin too," the troll snarled. "He use some trick to run, but I will find him."

The huge satyr sighed. "And you came back here, in failure, fully expecting another chance? We are done waiting." The demon gestured, quicker than the troll could react, and shot what appeared to be a cloud of black smoke at him.

Numskull shrieked, clawing at his face as the smoke thickened and twisted into the black tendrils and began to spread down his neck, across his chest and down his limbs. As Sal watched, horrified, the tendrils constricted, choking the blood and the life out of the troll shaman; Numskull flailed and writhed, screaming all the while, and after a few moments fell silent. One of the torches lit at his death, and the satyr smiled in satisfaction.

"Two more acceptable offerings to find. We are close, my brethren."

"My lord, should we not offer the priest?" one of the bowed satyrs asked, not raising his gaze from the floor.

"He is a captive, and an assured offering. His purity will make a fine final sacrifice to light our flames," the huge one replied, chuckling nastily as he turned.

Behind him now, Sal could see a crude stone altar, upon which a figure was chained. She sucked in a gasp when she realized it was her brother, prone on the altar but still very much aware; his eyes glowed yellow as he glared at the satyr towering over him, his entire body lined with a soft silver glow that seemed to hold back the shadows of the room.

Sal backpedaled quickly, now having her proof that her brother lived. She found the others waiting with Mikael where she'd left him, and quickly she explained all that she had observed.

"Counting their leader, I think there were eight. My brother is chained to their foul altar behind them," she finished, growling.

"Numskull, dat rat bastard kodo dropping...got wat he deserved," Kakum snarled, spitting on the ground.

"Let us hurry, they cannot be allowed to finish whatever ritual it is they are enacting," Sevei said.

"What is da plan?" Kakum asked as they moved up the passageway, the hunter stringing his bow as they went.

"I'll lead," Mikael and Sevei said at the same instant before looking at one another.

"Fine, you lead," they said in unison again, pointing at one another.

"Shaddup an' move," Kakum snapped, pushing passed them.

The demons had ceased their chanting and now silently sat around the altar, watching their leader pace back and forth in front of the captured night elf male.

"You should be honored," the satyr was saying to the elf, chuckling. "Not anyone possesses a soul powerful enough to light the torches."

"You assume you can capture my soul," the priest retorted, eyes tracking the demon's movement. "Elune guards me, you have no chance. And besides, do you truly think you've gone unnoticed here?"

The satyr held up a finger and waved it mockingly. "Ah, but we shall be done long before others think to come. One more person, and then we offer up you, oh mighty priest. I have great confidence that your soul shall prove satisfactory."

"And if you're mistaken?" the priest scoffed. "What then?"

"We desecrate your body for spoiling our fun, and find another 'willing' body," came the amused answer.

Kakum fitted an arrow to his bow, pressing himself into the shadows of the doorway; as the satyr returned to his pacing, he drew the bow taut and snapped it up, hardly aiming as he released it. The arrow flew true and, followed by others fired in rapid succession, thudded into the head and neck of the nearest lesser satyr kneeling in the floor.

"Dat was for my pig!" the troll roared, loosing several more arrows as the demons scrambled to their feet in confusion under the angry barrage.

"Intruders! Subdue them!" the giant satyr roared, kicking out at his nearest minion to boot the demon forward quicker.

He drew a dagger and hurled it at the group, still urging on his underlings to capture the intruders. The hunter ducked and the dagger clattered to the stone behind him, narrowly missing Meraka's foot as the rest of them charged into the room behind the angry troll. The satyrs rushed forward with wild howls, driven on by the frenzied calls for blood from their giant leader behind them. Brock stepped forward to meet their charge, his hammer swinging around to crunch into an unlucky satyr's hip, dropping the screeching demon to the stone and raising his hammer once more. Mikael rushed in behind him, his sword clashing against the sharp claws of a satyr attempting to gut the tauren. A second satyr swiped at the warlock's head, a blow Mikael saw coming and easily blocked; he swung his sword in a two-handed grip, a ring of fire forming in its wake and collecting around his waist before dropping to the floor and detonating, setting the nearest satyrs on fire.

Sal flung herself forward, ripping her way through the press of the satyrs, her eyes on the big one that stood over her brother. She was intercepted by one of the lesser satyrs, however, and druid and demon rolled to the floor in a confused tangle, all claws and teeth and snarls as they tore at one another mercilessly.

Mikael reversed his grip on his sword, kicking out and sweeping the legs out from under one of the beasts he'd set aflame, then plunged the blade into its throat until the tip grated on stone. The human raised his hand, fingers flashing through a rapid spellcasting, then pointed and shouted a command word. A satyr jerked weirdly, limbs twitching violently for one brief instant, then it spun and turned on the satyr nearest it; the attacked satyr howled in pain and betrayal as the other ripped at him with cruel claws.

Meraka and the tailless satyr leader began trading spells, the rock behind the mage crackling under the intense heat of the fire magic the orc was successfully dodging. Meraka was primarily using the arcane arts - weaker by far, but less likely to accidentally strike one of her group with a badly aimed spell, or miss and hit the defenseless night elf male on the altar near her target. The little arcane bolts she threw peppered the demon leader without error, and it served only to enrage him further; the returning spells intensified and the heat in the room increased to an uncomfortable level as Sal still grappled with her satyr opponent nearby.

A bolt of lightning thundered over the druid's head then, making her fur stand on end at its passing. The bolt slammed into both the enslaved satyr and the one it fought, staggering them both and snapping the enslaved demon to its senses. When it turned, seeking Mikael to exact revenge, Sevei struck it again with lightning, forcing it to its knees. Mikael danced beyond a weak swing from the gored satyr left standing, then darted forward within its reach, sword flashing up to rip out its throat as he slammed a shoulder into it and drove it to the ground. It crumpled without a sound, leaving Sevei and Mikael with the previously enslaved satyr to deal with - not a challenge to either, even if it had been fully healthy. It fell dead beside the other within moments.

Sal rose from the pile of shredded fur that had been a satyr, both demon and her own blood staining her fur black. Her eyes - glowing a venomous yellow - fixated on the demon leader.

He roared in anger, releasing a magical shockwave that blew them all from their feet.

"You die, NOW!"

Meraka bounced backwards as the shockwave reached her and struck the superheated rock wall, finding herself suddenly wearing a flaming cloak. She hurriedly tugged it off and threw it, grimacing as she felt blisters already forming across her shoulders...and so she saw them first.

"At our rear!" she shouted, sending a fireball racing down the hallway at their backs. It exploded, setting everything in the closed space on fire, but the shuffling forms of the reanimated druids didn't slow, not even the one which had taken nearly the full force of the spell; he was headless, falling apart as his flesh burned, but he continued to drag himself forward - even his severed arms, after they'd dropped to the ground, continued to wriggle toward the mage. Meraka loosed another fireball but still they came on; she switched tactics, sending a powerful cone of freezing air down the passageway. The fire-blackened bodies slowed, some freezing to the rock beneath their feet as leaking bodily fluids solidified.

Sevei moved to the orc's side, casting as rapidly as he could. A staggering body froze in place when his magic struck it; the shaman gestured again, and then the earth beneath the druids's feet melted and turned into a sludge, climbing their legs and swallowing completely the smaller bits that still tried crawling forward. Meraka began to aim her spells at the ground then, freezing the slush before their advance, watching as most tripped and became entrapped in the grasping earth. Sevei drew his weapons as the front of the staggering mob got within melee range.

Mikael's arms waved as he launched into another spellcasting. The satyr leader gestured and a bolt of shadow raced for and struck the warlock, lifting him completely from his feet as the human completed his spell. Even as Mikael crashed to the ground, stunned and gasping for air, the figure of the stayr became less substantial and froze in place.

"I shoved him...between realms," he gasped. "It won't hold long, hurry!"

Sal leapt onto the altar, ignoring the look of terrified surprise on the male's face as she grasped and tugged at the chains.

"Saliea, what are you doing here?!"

"Hello to you too, Tebrion," she said, grinding her teeth as her mind raced. The manacles on his wrists had no keyholes, and the chains were secured to large hoops set into the stone of the altar. "How do these come off?"

"The demon himself conjured them, but I think they are simply solid items and not magical."

"Uh...Brock! I need you!" she shouted after the priest fell silent, knowing she herself could not break the chains.

The tauren crushed the skull of the final living satry underling, then hurried up to them. He grasped the chains himself and heaved, not budging them but getting an estimate of their strength.

"Move," he ordered, raising his hammer high.

Sal threw herself over Tebrion, shielding the priest as Brock brought his hammer down upon one of the hoops; stone chips flew as the ring shattered and broke away from the altar. Brock quickly broke the remaining three, then tugged both elves off the altar as a roar behind then heralded the massive satyr's return to their realm.


	8. Chapter 8

Mikael gestured and murmured a spell, ignoring the smoke rising from the hole in the front of his robes where the shadowy bolt had blasted him. As the giant satyr turned and swiped at Brock, the warlock lit the demon's back on fire; Brock swung his hammer, knocking the swiping claws aside and keeping his momentum as he swung the weapon up for a vicious overhead chop. It was batted aside, the heavy hammer knocking another sizable chunk out of the stone altar as the satyr leapt backwards, extinguishing the flames as he went with a single word.

He landed heavily and spun, aiming a kick at Mikael who was still prone on the floor and recovering from taking the full force of that nasty spell; Sal shoved her brother to the ground against the wall and then leapt over the altar, changing forms as she went and slamming into the back of the satyr as a wildcat. As the satyr stumbled, his kick flying harmlessly passed the warlock, the druid sank claws into his shoulders and locked her teeth into the back of his neck. The creature began to flail, attempting to throw her off; Sal ground her teeth together and hung on, but then sprang away as the demon arched his back and tried to slam her against the altar behind him.

Brock's hammer whistled through the air and crunched into the knee of the satyr; the satyr howled and swung out an arm that sent the tauren flying away to bounce against the wall a few feet from where the night elf priest huddled. Snarling, the demon braced himself upright against the altar, his injured leg sticking out at an odd angle.

At the doorway, Sevei was knee-deep in feebly twitching gore, axes flashing again and again as the shaman beat back the waves of reanimated corpses, protecting Meraka as the mage threw a continuous stream of destructive magic passed the whirling draenei. Not too far from them Kakum struggled with the remains of Numskull, both trolls battering at one another - the shaman had a keenly sharp ax, the hunter wielded his sword in one hand and his small hatchet in the other.

Mikael rolled to his side, gritting teeth against the pain as he pushed himself to his knees.

"Sha - Shathuun," he growled, shoving himself entirely to his feet as he completed his spell of summoning. A felguard answered the warlock's call, not looking very pleased at the summon but unable to disobey the warlock, who had bested and enslaved the demon several years ago. Mikael pointed to the satyr. "Kill it."

"I look forward to the day your weakness allows me to kill you instead, "master,"" the felguard snarled, compelled to turn and engage his appointed foe.

"If that rids me of your constant complaining..." the warlock muttered as his demon slave brought his ax slicing down into the back of the satyr's calves.

The satyr howled in pain as the ax bit deep and threw him forward to slump over the altar, screaming as Sal attacked his unprotected face even as the felguard behind him pounded away at his legs and lower back.

Brock leveled himself to his feet, using his hammer to prop himself up; the tauren shook his head, still seeing stars from his meeting with the wall a moment ago, but still set his feet and raised his warhammer high. Three steps brought him up to flank the screeching satyr giant; his hammer slammed down between its shoulder blades with a thud, the demon's head striking the stone hard enough that one of its gnarled horns snapped off and skittered across the altar's surface to drop to the floor.

"Finish it!" Mikael roared. Shathuun's ax flashed up, then slammed down upon the back of the satyr's bared neck; the blade crunched through, embedding itself in the stone beneath as the satyr's head flopped free, still snarling for a brief instant before the life and blood drained from it.

The felguard tugged its blade free, kicking the body away from its feet before turning to stand - grumpily - at his master's side. Mikael was standing with shaking legs, gingerly examining the hole burned through his robes and the scorch mark left on his leathers beneath them. His chest felt incredibly tight, and breathing was somewhat difficult, but he tried his best to look outwardly calm despite how he currently felt. He was practiced at hiding the pain, he simply needed to find his focus...

'It's getting harder and worse, the longer I go on...' he thought then, grimly, dismissing Shathuun and wearily turning to check on the rest of their companions.

Upon the death of the satyr, the dead druids had returned to just that - dead bodies that didn't move, didn't attack. They all simply crumpled where they stood, ringing in one very weary Sevei who stumbled out of the blood and the guts and the mud before simply dropping to his knees, leaning over and panting silently. Meraka leaned against the wall - the cool section - and hugged herself, blowing out a shaky breath as the adrenaline drained from her and left her bone-tired and drained entirely of her magic.

Kakum was scrabbling away from the body of Numskull, which had toppled forward onto the hunter upon the expiration of the demon lord; the troll scrubbed furiously at the blood coating himself, grumbling and spitting on the dead shaman's body as he scrambled backwards on the ground, sword clattering on the stone in his wake.

They simply rested in silence, Sal collapsing to the ground beside Tebrion, the priest looking just as tired as the rest of them.

"So..." Kakum said several minutes later, laying flat on his back on the ground. "Any idea...wat dat was dat we jus' killed?"

"He called himself Dathuuk," the night elf priest answered quietly from where he rested against the wall near his sister. "He swept in here a month before my sister and I made our way here with our party; apparently he had been killing that entire time, attempting to generate enough death to power his ritual." He paused, gratefully taking a skin of water that Saliea passed to him from the pack sitting open beside her, taking a few large gulps before slowing to sip at it.

Mikael unsteadily walked to a torch and thrust his hand into the flickering flame, much to the surprise of all present.

"What are you doi-" Sal started, only to fall silent when the warlock didn't appear harmed.

Mikael's face went blank as he turned inward to determine the nature of the demonic magic contained in the flames. "I...see..." he said slowly, eyes drooping shut as he clenched his fist. He cupped his fist with his other hand, chanting in rough, choking syllables of a language unfamiliar to anyone but those who practiced fel arts; brilliant purple flames flared to life around his fingers, battling with the wildly dancing red flame of the demon torch. There was a bright flash of light, and the warlock was driven back several feet, growling as he tugged off his flaming robes.

"The hard way, then," he growled, stepping forward with a determined look and once again grasping the flame and cupping his hands together. He launched into his chanting again, brow furrowed in concentration, the purple flames flaring into existence once more. As the rest watched in uneasy silence, the flames climbed the warlock's arms, wisps of smoke rising off the leather when it reached his shoulders. The red and purple twined around one another, shoved together by the warlock's will as he snarled the incantation. Finally, with a blast of cold air that blew the warlock off his feet and back into the arms of Sevei on the floor, the red and purple disappeared and the torches went out with a hiss.

Sevei set the warlock on his feet, grunting as he yanked his hands clear - the warlock's skin was incredibly hot from fingertips to shoulders. Amazingly the human did not seem bothered by it, looping the thumb of one hand through his belt and resting the other on the hilt of his sword.

"What did you do?" the shaman asked his, waving his hands in the air to cool them.

Mikael simply dropped into a cross-legged position on the ground, panting slightly and massaging the burn mark on his chest. "I broke the magic holding the souls of Dathuuk's sacrifices here. That air was them leaving this world." He bent over, leaning to rest his forehead on one of his knees.

Saliea briefly squeezed Tebrion's shoulder before leaving his side and dropping down beside Mikael, reaching hands out for him. He didn't protest when her hands gently wrapped around his shoulders and sent rejuvenating magic through him; slowly he unbent until he was sitting upright, wearily half-leaning on the small elf as she bolstered him. Sevei stepped silently behind her, looking from her to the warlock, then abruptly turning his attention to Meraka.

As the draenei began to heal the burns across the mage's back, Tebrion staggered to his feet, perching on the edge of the mostly shattered altar. "Do you require further healing?"

Sal sent him a glare. "How long were you chained to that rock?"

"Uh...since three hours after we first became separated."

"Sit. You will eat and rest before you so much as lift a healing finger," the druid ordered.

"But-"

Sal glared again, and the male blew out a sigh. "Very well..."

"We aren't falling apart, Tebrion, we'll be fine," she said more gently.

"So this is your brother then?" Brock said from his sitting position on the floor nearby the stretched-out Kakum.

"Yes. This is my brother, Tebrion," Sal said as the priest gave a little half-bow. "Tebrion, this is Mikael, Meraka, Brock, Kakum, and Sevei," she went on, pointing to each in turn.

"Good to meet you all," Tebrion murmured, bowing again. "I must admit...I didn't expect a rescue, especially not from uh...Horde," he added slowly.

Sal patted Mikael's shoulders gently before standing and turning to her brother. "You didn't think I'd just leave you to die?"

"My dear sister, I thought you were dead yourself," he said dryly. "I also...didn't expect such company to come with you."

Sal frowned at him. "They are allies, brother."

The priest patted the air. "Relax, Saliea. I will openly admit I was worried when I saw your friends enter enter...that lovely shaman and his thugs were allied with Dathuuk, and I wondered if my time had not come when I saw - Kakum, was it? - Kakum enter. I...you understand why I am uneasy."

"There are good people on each side of every war. Meraka, Brock, and Kakum are friends, and have helped me... We have...been through much, to get here," Sal sighed. "When we're all rested, I've quite a tale to tell you."

Mikael climbed to his feet, nearly tripping over the headless body of the giant satyr. He began to tug at the cloth wrapping around its lower half.

"What are you doing, warlock?" Meraka asked sharply, nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Looking to see if our friend here was carrying orders, either ones given to him or ones he intended to give to others," the warlock murmured. He found a tiny leather pouch hidden in the loincloth of the demon, and opened it to dump a small black gemstone into the palm of his hand. "...if I'm not mistaken this is a communication device. I'll see what I can glean from it while we rest."

"Might I suggest we rest somewhere with a better view?" Sevei said then, jerking a finger over his shoulder in the general direction of the pile of dead and hacked druids.

"That would be preferable, yes," Tebrion said with a shudder. Sal stood and offered her brother her hand, letting him lean on her as they together left the chamber and picked their way back through the gore, heading for the outside world.

Once they had exited the caverns, Tebion let out a sigh of relief and turned his face to the sun, closing his eyes. "I never thought I'd see the sun again," he murmured.

Brock hefted his hammer, resettling it on his shoulder. "This area is known for centaurs. We should move out into the plains."

"I be keepin a lookout," Kakum grumbled. "Nuttin will sneak up on us."

"Let's move still. I don't want to take chances," the tauren insisted. The hunter merely shrugged and followed them as they headed out into the open grasslands.

An hour or so later they stopped on the shady side of a grassy hill; Sal helped the weak priest into a sitting position, then hurried to assist Sevei and Brock in setting up a hasty campsite. Kakum muttered something about a walk and disappeared over the hill; Meraka was sitting off to the side, pulling a needle and thread from her pack intending to fix the holes in her robes. She looked over at Mikael, who was sitting not too far from Tebrion.

"Give me your robes," she said, holding a hand out. "I will see what I can do to fix them."

He shrugged. "I think they're a lost cause, but you're welcome to try," he said, digging them out of his backpack and passing them over. She smoothed them over her knees, picking at the burnt spots and the rips and tears, assessing the damage silently.

Mikael plucked silently at the scorch mark on his front, knowing the bruising beneath it was gone now thanks to Saliea's healing magic. His leather was black, but the mark showed clearly; he'd need to find a talented leatherworker to repair it, for he was rather attached to this particular set. He yanked his gloves off and stored them away in his bags before running both hands through his hair and falling over backwards, laying spread-eagle in the grass.

"So are you her older brother, then?" he asked the night elf priest.

Tebrion nodded. "Yes, she is younger. I was nearly through my schooling when her mother delivered her."

Mikael nodded, then blinked. "Wait, her mother? Don't you mean your mother?"

Tebrion cocked his head sideways, a look of puzzlement on his handsome elven features. He brushed hair the color of midnight from his forehead. "I see that you are not aware of our family history. No matter, it is not all that important to the matter at hand."

The human rolled to his side, facing the elf. "Well, wait, now I'm curious. Did you have different mothers?"

"I'm not related to Tebrion by blood at all, actually," Saliea said quietly, causing Mikael to jump when he realized the female was right behind him.

"I didn't mean to pry-" the human started, but Saliea just smiled and shrugged.

"I don't mind telling you," she said simply. She glanced up as Sevei seated himself near them, then looked back down at the warlock. "My mother was nearly always ill all her life, and when she discovered she was with child, she knew it would be her life or mine. My father, several months before I was due, simply disappeared without a trace...I think her grief over his disappearance is what caused my mother's illness to worsen, and she went into premature labor. The healers who were there did what they could to ease her pain and try to keep her alive...but it wasn't enough. She died, and I was forcibly taken from her womb; I myself nearly did not survive those first few days, but through the efforts of the druids and the priests that dwelled in the temple of Elune..." she trailed off, gesturing to herself. "I am obviously here today. They believed that, in the end, my mother devoted all her attention and energy into making sure I at least would survive and be healthy."

Tebrion nodded slowly. "She was at first given to Lord Fandral Staghelm, to decide upon a family to raise her, due to her mother and father being friends to the Archdruid. My parents were personally selected by Lord Staghelm, and when I came home from my schooling I found a...surprise, to say the least. I was not expecting to find a younger sister in the house of my parents."

"The Archdruid kept an eye on me for my first decade or so...I guess I'm something of an oddity to him, being so small. We spoke often when I was little, but as I grew and began my druidic training he distanced himself further from me. I have not seen nor spoken to him directly in years. I sometimes wonder if he even recalls I was once his ward," she added, giggling a bit. "Have I satisfied your curiosity?"

"I uh...I'm sorry, I didn't mean - " he started to stammer, but Sal held up a hand to shush him.

"Mikael, really, it's fine," she said with a smile. "Are you two hungry? All we have is dried meat and some hard travel bread at the moment. We can find something better for a dinner, I imagine."

The druid helped Sevei hand out their water skins and their travel rations, all sharing a light lunch (except for Kakum, who had yet to return). Tebrion, after he was done eating, stretched out in the grass and fell asleep; Mikael pulled out the gemstone and studied it. After a moment, he seemed to simply waggle his fingers above it, though clearly he must have been doing something more complex than that as seconds later brilliant and fiery words projected themselves into the air above the gem.

Sevei peered at them a moment, before shaking his head and turning away. "I hate trying to read Demonic."

Mikael looked up from the characters floating in the air which, to someone not fluent in the evil language, simply appeared to be continuously changing shapes. "It can be difficult, even for someone who has been speaking and reading it for many years. I will see what I can garner from it; hopefully it shall be something useful." And with that, the tired warlock turned all of his attention to translating the shifting runes, sighing and squinting as the runes continued to twist and change...almost writhing in midair. Saliea watched for a few moments more, then had to turn away as a sudden feeling of nausea rose as she watched the moving script.

Brock sat silently on his haunches, watching Meraka as she picked and fussed over Mikael's robes, the tauren looking sleepy but not willing to rest his eyes.

Sal settled on her side in the grass, and was slightly surprised - and a little pleased - when Sevei settled down in the grass nearby.

"Were those memories...back when I reminded you of your childhood...were those the memories that caused you pain?" he asked quietly.

Sal shook her head. "They are both pleasant and sad to remember. I never knew my real mother or father. I often wonder if the man who sired me is alive; I'd like to ask him why he abandoned my mother. But yes, those were the same memories you reminded me of previously, and again, they didn't bring any pain to me."

The shaman smiled, his eyes on the sky. "I still -"

She pushed herself up on one elbow, poking at him with her other hand. "No pain, Sevei. It didn't bother me," she laughed.

He laughed with her, looking at her without turning his head. "Very well then."

She settled back down with a sigh. "I know my family history is odd, but I still have two loving parents who treat me as one of their own blood."

"Is Tebrion your only sibling?" the shaman asked, stretching his hands above his head.

She nodded. "He is the only son of my adoptive parents. I was the only child born to my mother. I have no other family that I am aware of."

"It seems odd to me, coming from a small family," Sevei said slowly. "My own is quite large."

"Oh?"

He sat up, smiling. "My parents still live, and I'm the youngest of six children, three brothers and two sisters being my elder. Well," he added thoughtfully, scratching his chin. "I am the youngest so far as I know. I have not been home recently, for all I know I may return home to find a surprise waiting on me."

She was staring at him in amazement. "I don't know if I could handle having a family that large."

He smiled at her. "I do not think I could handle having only a single brother."

"He can be a royal pain in the rear," she said dryly. "At times I'm glad I only have him to deal with."

The shaman chuckled, turning his attention to the sky again. "Do you intend to rest?"

She shrugged. "I may, I may not. I am tired, but if you wish to take your rest first, I shall keep an eye on things."

"Are you certain?" he asked, eying her.

"I'm certain," she repeated with a smile. When he continued to sit there, she rolled to her knees and reached over, shoving him flat in the grass. "Rest, you," she said, sticking her tongue out at him. He laughed. "Very well then." She got to her feet and climbed up the hill, settling onto the top so she could see out in all directions. If Sevei craned his neck to look up, he could see her framed against the cloudless sky as she slowly scanned the horizon. He found himself staring at this sight and turned his gaze elsewhere with a sigh, reminding himself that he should be resting so she later could rest herself.

Tebrion remained unmoving in his sleep, Mikael sitting a few feet away engrossed in reading through the demonic text he had coaxed from the gemstone. Brock and Meraka were where they'd been before Sevei had sat down, and Kakum was still gone from the camp. The draenei took a deep breath, then shut his eyes and listened to the light breeze whistle by.

* * *

When Sevei opened his eyes a while later, Kakum was sitting between Brock and Meraka, the three Horde sitting in comfortable silence. Tebrion was sitting up, now awake and talking to Mikael in low tones, perhaps lending his aid in deciphering the demonic words that still floated and changed in the air between them. Sevei pushed himself to his feet, looking up the hill to see only the bottoms of Sal's boots.

The shaman climbed up, seeing the elf asleep amongst the tall grass. He smiled to himself, stopping to pick her up and carry her down to arrange her carefully in the grass on the other side of Mikael. He gently brushed hair from her face, then dropped into a sitting position between the warlock and the druid.

"How goes your translating?" he asked.

Mikael idly waved a hand. "Demonic is written strangely...the beginning is not the true beginning, but hidden instead – could be at the "end" of something could be in the middle of it. I can now read everything, I'm just trying to sort it into an order that makes sense." He paused, squinting at some of the words. "It's like, trying to read a tome in a different language, by selecting a page at random until you've read each page, if that makes any sense to you," he explained, nodding up to the shaman.

"It sounds like yet another reason I am glad I cannot read their foul language," Sevei commented bluntly.

Behind him, Saliea stretched, jumped, then relaxed when she saw Sevei sitting near her.

"You are safe, don't worry," the draenei smiled.

She sat up with a yawn. "I knew that, I was awake when Kakum returned. I just wasn't expecting to wake up somewhere other than where I had fallen asleep."

"He carried you down," Mikael commented distractedly, staring intently at the words still. "I'm not certain what this really should mean. Three in Outland? Three _what _in Outland? Why would a demon on Azeroth be concerned with anything going on there?"

"Outland?" Sevei asked sharply, whipping around to face the warlock. "Outland?"

"Uh, yes...I'm fairly certain this says Outland here," Mikael said, gesturing to a group of runes. "Three in Outland - three somethings. I can't quite figure out what...I think it may be here, as there are some runes here I've never seen before, but then, these things I've never seen could be anything..."

"What is Outland?" Tebrion asked, turning his gaze from the shifting demonic runes.

"Outland," Sevei said grimly, "is where a great deal of my people dwell. It is where my parents and my siblings dwell, battling the forces of the Legion."

"There was a portal."

They turned, seeing Meraka staring at them emotionlessly. "There was a portal," she said again, sniffing, "between our land and the so-called Outland. It is located in the Blasted Lands, in the Eastern Kingdoms. It is where the orcs came through to your world, a portal that was once shut but is now open once more."

Tebrion blinked at her. "I had no idea that place actually had a name."

Sevei fixed the warlock with a hard stare. "It had a name, we called it Draenor. We must figure out what there is in Outland that is connected to this demon we slew, and we must discover this quickly."

"I am going about as quick as I can," the warlock muttered, but returned his attention to the letters.

Sevei stalked up the hill, dropping heavily to a sitting position in about the same spot Saliea had been sitting earlier; he dropped his chin to a hand, propping his elbow on his knee, staring aimlessly out at the far horizon.

Kakum shook his head. "I don' tink I'ma like wat we're gunna find out, mon. Dis be gettin' a little too involved fer me."

Sal smiled at him. "You've helped me find my brother, like you promised. If you don't wish to stick around, I will understand."

The troll waved a hand, after considering things for a moment. "I'm in too deep not ta see dis tru now. An' besides, ya'll likely still be needin' me to keep an eye on yer hide, mon," he added dryly.

"We will no doubt need to report to Thrall when the human has finished learning what he can," Meraka said with a snort. "Do not get so attached."

"Jus becuz ya don' like people don' mean I have ta dislike 'em," came the hunter's retort. Sal shook her head, smiling slightly, as she got to her feet and headed up the hill to plop quietly near the draenei.

She plucked a long strand of the stiff grass and wove it between her fingers, eying the shaman; he was stonily glaring at the horizon still - if he had even noticed her sit down he hadn't shown any indication. Swallowing hard and pushing down the jittery feeling in her stomach, Sal took her blade of grass and tickled the male's ear with it. He jumped and grunted slightly, looking relieved to see it was her as he rubbed at his ear.

"Hey," she said quietly, smiling.

"Hey," he replied simply, eyes returning to their previous focus. She waited a moment, then poked him again. This time he chuckled and swiped for the grass, but she pulled it out of his grasp.

"Have some faith in Mikael," she said, wiggling the tip of the grass right in front of his nose. "He is working hard to make sense of it all."

Again the shaman snapped at the grass, this time catching it and yanking it from her grasp with a brief smile. "I know...it was wrong of me to direct my anger at him. But, I cannot help but worry. All of my family lives on Draenor – Outland."

"I understand," the elf said quietly, running her fingers through the grass around her. "I would be worried too. I don't have much family at all, for any of it to be threatened."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, Sal deftly braiding grass into interesting patterns in her hands, the draenei thoughtfully twirling the blade of grass he'd taken from Sal between his fingers. Some time later it was her turn to jump and giggle as Sevei ran the tip of the blade of grass teasingly along her jawline.

"We should return to the others and see the warlock's progress," he said, nodding down the hill behind him. Sal wordlessly nodded her agreement and headed back down, Sevei plodding along behind her.

The early morning was far passed, the sun now high in the sky and heralding the coming of late afternoon. Mikael was sitting, the others in a circle around him, with the gemstone held in the palm of a hand. He looked up at the two approached, smiling tight-lipped.

"Well, I've translated and organized nearly all of it into something that makes sense now," he said, watching as the druid and shaman seated themselves in the circle of companions. "So...here's what I have."

He straightened. "So far as I can tell, our friend Dathuuk was sent here with instructions on a specific ritual to be performed as soon as he could manage. His torches held the living flame of imprisoned souls, souls that feared him and feared death itself. Only a soul that held pure fear within it would have lit a flame."

Tebrion snorted to himself. "So, I wouldn't have lit that last one after all..." He seemed surprised to note everyone turning to look at him. "...what? It's true. I do not fear death. There is no reason for me to, Elune is with me."

"You may not fear death, but I could name a few other things I know make you whimper," Sal muttered, shaking her head. "Moving on."

"Uh, yes, moving on," Mikael said, clearing his throat. "From what I can gather, this ritual was going to open a planar gate to some realm or plane where a large demonic force waited...sounds like an invasion force to me," he added darkly. "The ritual takes time to stabilize the gate fully, and the gate itself would not have been very large...I don't believe a full-blown invasion force of a size big enough to be a threat could have rushed through immediately, thankfully, so even had we...uh," he paused, looking at Tebrion briefly. "Even if we had arrived too late, and the last torch had been lit, we still would have had time to deal with things. There are three other such ritual locations noted: Hellfire, Zangarmarsh, and Nagrand."

"The types of rituals aren't specified; they could all be different for all I know, for little is mentioned about that part of it. There's hints here that the ones in...Zangarmarsh and Nagrand have some specific element that must be met, but it doesn't say what." Mikael sighed and tossed the gemstone up and down in his palm. "Aside from what I've just told you, there isn't anything of importance in the rest of it, mainly just orders to contact whomever is their head if something disrupts their ritual. Dathuuk, of course, won't be doing any contacting ever again, so unfortunately we don't yet know why he was here and these other rituals are taking place in Outland."

"An invasion force, you say?" Sevei asked, eyes narrowing.

Mikael simply nodded. "It seems that way, yes."

"Thrall must be notified at once," Meraka interrupted. "This one here may not be the only one on Azeroth, even if none others were listed within that stone."

"As should the leaders of the Alliance," Tebrion added.

Sevei stood, his face troubled. "I must return home as quickly as I can."

Sal found herself leaping to her feet as well. "I'll...I'll accompany you," she blurted out, flushing bright red as she looked at the draenei.

Tebrion sputtered. "What? Absolutely not!"

"Oh? And who is going to prevent me?" she retorted, glaring at the priest.

"I can't let you wander off alone!"

"I am an adult, and apparently you are deaf: I won't be going alone, I will be going with Sevei," the druid snorted.

"I cannot allow you to come with me," the draenei interrupted, shaking his head slowly. "I will not put you in danger."

Sal put her hands on her hips. "I may look like one, but I assure you I am not a child. The trip will be safer than if you went alone."

Mikael was standing up as he spoke. "If she's going, I'm going."

Tebrion glared daggers at the warlock. "She is NOT going!"

The tiny elf stalked up to her much-taller brother and glared at him. "If you're so worried, you come too. Otherwise, shut up. If you recall, _I'm_ the one who brought you a rescue. If anything, it should be me preventing you from wandering off alone."

Tebrion took a deep breath, inhaling through his nose and out his mouth. "We can't ALL go, who will carry the warning to the Alliance?"

To the side, Kakum gave an exaggerated cough. "Not ta interrupt da sibling tiff or anything, but I can do dat. Da Oakmoon family be my clan's allies; how ya tink I learned da elfie language?"

Sevei looked amazed. "I can't ask you to risk your lives for this."

Sal smiled at him. "You don't need to ask, I shall gladly do it."

"As shall I," Mikael chimed in.

Tebrion growled. "This is madness..." He grunted loudly when Sal stamped his foot. "...I shall come with you as well."

Meraka stood, squaring her shoulders. "Thrall shall want a full report. I will come as well."

"Then I shall go to Orgrimmar immediately," Brock reasoned, nodding. "Kakum and I will carry the appropriate warnings of heightened alertness for demonic presences across the lands."

"Good point," Mikael mused. "Just because we know of these three gates and the one we kept from opening, there may be others out there. Constant vigilance will be needed until we know more."

Meraka launched into a spellcasting. "I will summon a portal to take you to Orgrimmar. You will have to find your own way to elven lands, troll."

"I got a name, yanno," the hunter muttered.

The mage finished casting and stood back from the shimmering portal she had summoned. The tauren hefted his hammer and turned to Saliea, sticking out his hand.

"We shall meet again, do not worry," he said, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze when she placed her hand in his. "I shall seek you out when my task is complete."

"Same 'ere," Kakum said. "I'll be catchin' da next bat out o' Crossroads though. Ya all need ta head to Ratchet and get ta Booty Bay, den head north to..."

"Nethergarde," Meraka answered.

Brock released Sal's hand and stepped into the portal, disappearing. Sevei still had a look of dazed amazement on his face as they gathered their things and began to hurry across the plains in the direction of Crossroads. Saliea, jogging along between Tebrion and the draenei, poked his arm.

"You helped keep my family together," she said with a gentle smile. "It is my turn to return the favor."

The smile he gave her was a grateful one; part of Sal wondered if she was crazy for wanting to accompany the draenei into Outland. Part of her also didn't care, but was instead elated at the thought of spending more time at his side. She didn't know - she had no way of knowing - that the shaman shared her elation...as did Mikael.


	9. Chapter 9

They had to spend a night on the plains; cloud cover began to roll in early evening, and the breeze carried with it the scent of a far-off rain storm that was approaching.

"We're going to spend a night wet," Sevei commented in amusement, gazing at the sky as the last of the sunlight began to fade.

"We are not in the wet season, it shall be a short shower and nothing more," Meraka replied in her usual deadpan way.

Kakum gathered fuel for a fire and stored it under his bedroll, hoping it would be enough to keep it all dry until the rain had passed. It was fully dark when a quick but heavy shower blew over; just enough that they all became soaked, but not long enough to make things truly miserable. Kakum pulled out the dry wood and got a fire going as everyone set to peeling off wet clothing and arranging it to dry near the flames.

Sal was once again stripped down to her cloth undergarments, her leather armor having kept most of the moisture on the outside. Mikael was only slightly damp under his heavy robes; the troll appeared unbothered by his wet leather, and Meraka seemed absolutely livid at the idea of having to remove her robes in front of the rest of them.

Tebrion sat near the fire, combing fingers through his hair and attempting to braid them into the twin braids he usually wore, clad only in a pair of cloth shorts and seeming to be the one most at ease with his current state of undress.

Sevei was carefully using his cloak to dry his weapons and armor, barechested and, like Tebrion, stripped down to just plain cloth pants, though the draenei at least seemed a bit self conscious. Saliea could see, by the light of the fire, the scar across his chest, pleased to see that it was still whole. She abruptly turned her gaze elsewhere when the shaman looked up suddenly and caught her staring at him; instead she arranged her armor out flat and settled down to sit on her heels, allowing the water on the ground to drain away before she sat. Had she actually persisted in looking, she would have noticed that for once it was the draenei's face darkening a bit – he indeed did not seem like someone who enjoyed being undressed in front of others.

They didn't sleep much that night - not so much because of the rain but because they were all on edge now. The knowledge of a demonic threat that could possibly be released both in Azeroth and Outland wasn't something easily ignored. They didn't even bother with a supper, just dozed and waited out the night, then immediately packed up at the first sign of daylight.

The Crossroads came into view, and the two Horde headed the group as they approached; Meraka's icy gaze unnerved the two guards who stepped forward to meet them.

"_State your...hold it a moment," _the orc guard grunted, eyes narrowing as he eyed first Kakum, then his gaze slid beyond them to Saliea. "_Are you...?"_

_ "Yeh yeh, we was here before. Get ya big lump out of da way, we're in a hurry," _Kakum sighed, moving to shove the guard aside. To his surprise, and those of the others, the guards immediately stepped aside.

_"The Warchief made the elf known to us. Enter, friends of the Horde," _the guard grunted, nodding in the direction of the outpost, though he looked decidedly unsure and suspicious as Saliea and the others moved by him.

"Well...dat was easya' den I taut it would be," the hunter muttered, leading the way into Crossroads. "Ya all can stock up on wat supplies ya need for da trip down ta Ratchet. It ain't far from here, so ya won' need too much."

"Are you leaving now, then?" Sevei asked him.

The troll nodded. "Da quicker I get movin', da quicker I can rejoin ya."

"Good bye then, Kakum. I hope we meet up again sooner than later," Sal said quietly, smiling up at him. The troll swept her into a bone-popping hug, briefly lifting her off the ground then plunking her back down and slapping a hand across her back, nearly knocking her off her feet.

"Ya jus' stay alive 'til I find ya again. I'll be sure ta bring da moocow wit' me when I do."

"Swift, safe journey to you," Mikael said as the troll turned and headed off, waving at them from over a shoulder.

They moved into the town, Meraka providing the funds to restock their travel rations. Saliea and Tebrion both possessed no money of their own, considering they had both been captured by Numskull and robbed of anything of value. Mikael and Sevei both had a little money on them; both had been pleased to see that (aside from the guard attempting to keep Mikael's weapon) the Horde members had refrained from pocketing their coinpurses.

Mikael watched the group, falling behind them as they walked through the outpost. He slowed at a stall, briefly glancing at its contents, then stopped abruptly and turned to look again. There, folded neatly, was a cloak in an earthy brown trimmed in forest green laying amongst small daggers and useless trinkets. He eyed it, mind racing back to that evening he had lent Saliea his own cloak, remembered her not having one of her own anymore.

A female tauren, her fur a deep tan, was eying him curiously.

"You wish to buy?" she asked him in broken Common.

"I, uh, I...I don't know..." he stammered, a fight breaking out within him.

Part of him really, really wanted to buy that cloak and give it as a gift to the elf; the other part of him was raging, angry that the human was allowing himself the one thing he had long ago forbidden himself to do: get emotionally attached.

'Attachment brings pain to both parties,' his rational side was shouting at him. 'You know what is in your future, you are foolish to be weakening now!'

Mikael swallowed hard; he had, for so many years, listened only to that rational, almost merciless side of himself. It was how he survived, it was how he kept his focus and drive to complete the task asked of him so long ago. But, now, that quieter voice, the sensitive side of him that he had ignored all these years was starting to gain volume and be heard over that ranting rationality.

"...how much?" he finally asked, reaching into his bag for his purse.

The others had stopped to purchase a lunch of spiced bread rolls when Mikael caught up to them; he bought his own and then they headed out of the outpost, walking hastily toward the goblin port of Ratchet. The sun beat down on them, the rainstorm from the previous evening having left and taken all the cloud cover with it; Meraka informed them that at their current pace, they should reach Ratchet early morning - if they did not stop to rest for the night.

"I'll be fine," Tebrion said bluntly before Sal could say anything to him. "I'm rested enough."

"Then we travel through the night," Meraka said firmly.

And they did, traveling by moonlight over the plains until the muted torchlight from the port city became just visible on the horizon. As the sun was beginning to rise, they entered the town as the goblins and other residents were just beginning to stir.

Tebrion stifled a yawn. "So. First order of business is to catch the next vessel out and destined for Booty Bay?"

"A swift one, hopefully," Sevei added.

Meraka led them through the awakening city to the docks. The dock itself was really only two lengths of wooden planking that stretched out into the deeper water, both main branches of the dock forming "L"s at their ends, where two ships could pull up to each branch at a time, possibly three ships if they were small enough. The orc led them onto the dock on the right, marching up to a goblin and tapping him on the shoulder.

"Your dock master. I wish to speak with him."

"You ARE speaking to him," the goblin yawned. "Time is money, so make it quick."

"We seek passage on the next ship to Booty Bay," Sal said, leaning around the mage to look at the goblin.

The goblin shrugged. "Well, I've got a passenger ship coming in three days from now."

"We wish to leave as soon as possible," Sevei said quickly.

"...well, you're in luck!" the goblin said after a moment of thought. "Over there -" and the goblin pointed to their left, "-is a ship we're loading that happens to be heading to Booty Bay today. I could arrange passage...for a price."

The group exchanged looks. "A moment, if you please," Meraka said, turning her back on him.

"We don't have a lot of money," Saliea said immediately. "Tebrion and I could not possibly pay our own way, and as it's a goblin, the price is likely to be steep."

"I do not possess the funds to pay for everyone," Meraka stated flatly. "And I doubt you two -" she went on, casting a glance in the direction of Sevei and Mikael, "would have enough with mine combined to afford it."

"Are pirates a problem between here and Booty Bay?" Tebrion interrupted offhandedly, stepping around his sister and gently pushing Meraka aside as he moved to stand in front of the goblin.

"Uh...well, they've been bad as of late, but normally they're not a problem," came the reply.

"What sort of ship is it?" the priest went on, turning to look at the ship in question. It had a single mast, and wasn't all that big.

"She's a trading vessel, built for speed, only carrying fine silks...why?" the goblin asked then, looking suspicious.

"She may be fast, but she's small and I see no methods of defense. Her crew is likely small as well, an easy target for even the dumbest pirate," Tebrion said dryly. "Our passage shall be protection for the ship should she come under attack."

The goblin sputtered. "What?! Absolutely not! The price is twenty five gold each, up front!"

The priest examined his fingers. "How much, exactly, is that cargo worth?"

"I...that's not the issue here!"

He spread his arms wide, smiling slightly down at the green-skinned humanoid. "Here is our offer: ten gold each, five upfront and five upon arrival, and we protect the ship against pirate thievery. Or..." he added slyly, "you could give us the name of the incoming, slower passenger vessel, and all our money goes to the captain instead of to a certain dock master's pocket...it IS going into a certain dock master's pocket, is it not?"

The goblin was sputtering, his face red and his feet stomping on the wooden planks beneath them; he looked fit to explode, but then growled and pulled at his ears. "FINE! But the ten gold is ALL upfront! And that's ten gold EACH."

"A fine deal," the priest said, nodding sagely as he shook hands with the goblin. The goblin growled to himself as he stomped off to go make the arrangements with the ship's captain.

"...while I admire your bargaining skills - few can make a goblin back down - might I ask how you intend to pay for our passage?" Meraka asked dryly. "I don't even have ten gold to pay for myself."

Tebrion grinned mischievously and held up a small coin sack, and Saliea smacked him hard. "Tebrion!"

The priest whistled to himself innocently, earning another smack from his sister.

"What?" Mikael asked, looking between the siblings.

"That's the coinpurse off that goblin," Sal said darkly.

Sevei, Mikael, and Meraka looked at the priest in surprise, who merely spread his arms wide with an innocent look. "I am certain I have no idea what you're talking about," the priest said with a sniff.

"You are a horrible priest," Sal sighed, rolling her eyes.

Tebrion shook the purse's contents into his palm, counting out the cost of passage and then pocketing the rest. "You obviously have never seen the backstabbing that goes on in the schools in Azeroth. I can pick a lock too, had to learn rather quick when students enjoy locking one another out of their dorm rooms."

Sevei was chuckling behind his hand. "An interesting sibling you have, Saliea," he whispered, patting her shoulder as he moved passed her to walk down to the end of the dock they stood on, squatting down to gaze into the water.

The goblin came back, his hand preceding him for payment even before he announced that everything was in place.

"You've three hours before departure. If you miss it, it's not my problem," he said, counting the gold himself before reaching for a coinpurse that was no longer there. "Oh blast! I must have dropped it somewhere!" he muttered as he hurried off, gold clinking in his fingers.

"You are a HORRIBLE priest," Sal groaned again, shaking her head.

"We are on a time limit. We want to move as quickly as possible, and so I made that happen," the male shrugged. "Argue the morals later, right now we've a job to do."

Meraka cleared her throat. "We've three hours before we leave. The time is ours. I, frankly, wish to visit the inn and their bathing facilities. I do not like being dirty longer than I need to be."

Sal nodded and plucked at the front of her armor. "A bath would be nice..."

Tebrion moved off toward the end of the dock and the shaman, to inform the draenei about the travel arrangements; Sal followed Meraka and the two females headed back through the town and up the small hill that led to the inn.

A female goblin in garish makeup greeted them. "Whatcha need girls?"

"We shall be leaving soon, but require the use of your bathing facilities."

"Hmm, hmm hmm," the goblin hummed, nodding. "Well, I won't charge you for a room of course, but I will need a minimal fee for hauling the water and of course, the soap you'll use."

"Just name your price," Meraka growled.

"A silver each, then."

The mage handed over the money as the goblin whistled and a battered-looking male goblin hurried in. "Water for two, taking them to the side room," she said. The male nodded and scurried off, the female motioning for them to follow her. She led them down a short hallway and into what appeared to be a small storage area, not big enough for a rentable room but truthfully too big for a broom closet.

"I'll knock when he comes back with the tubs and the water," the goblin said before leaving and shutting the door behind her.

Meraka began to unfasten her robes, her back to Saliea.

"Are you a tailor, Meraka?" Sal asked as she too began to remove her armor.

"You might say I am, yes," came the answer. "I am not especially talented, but am capable of making some items. Why do you ask?"

"I just saw that you'd mostly repaired Mikael's robes," she replied. "I was curious."

The orc snorted. "Those robes had protective sigils sewn into them. They were set on fire, torn at, and have seen the rough road, but the sigils themselves prevented any major damage. The most I had to fix was a few large tears."

There came a knock, then the door opened far enough for the female goblin to push in two small wooden tubs full of fragrant, steaming water. "Not big enough for you big humanoids, I'm afraid, but it should suffice," she said cheerfully, handing them two hard cakes of brown soap and a pile of towels. "Off I go then."

Meraka dug through the towels until she found the smaller ones meant for washing and tossed one to the druid before turning her back once more and completely stripping off her undergarments.

Sal tugged her shirt over her head, frowning at the dirt streaks that had accumulated where her armor overlapped - waist, elbows, and around her ankles were neat little rings of grime. She wet the soap and the cleaning cloth and scrubbed at them, grumbling to herself. They both quickly bathed, then wrapped themselves in the towels and set to washing their cloth undergarments and brushing the worst of the grit off their armor.

"You know," Sal said after a while, rubbing out a mud stain from the knee of her pants. "You have gotten a lot more talkative since the caverns. You were so...well, cold toward us, for lack of a better term."

Meraka, to the druid's surprise, chuckled some. "I was accompanying you on the terms that we would soon be parting company. I saw little reason to familiarize myself with you, when I would be returning to my home without you soon after. Now that I am to be spending considerably more time in your company, there is no reason for me not to speak to you. Traveling and fighting together, it would be best to know one another."

Sal smiled at the orc and returned her attention back to her pants.

There was a small clothing rack hanging on the wall on the back of the door and a wooden slat with a handle in the ceiling; when Meraka opened the slat, sunlight and a decent breeze began to enter the room, and so they hung their clothing on the rack to dry - as it was obviously built for that exact purpose. The orc frowned when she saw half of Saliea's top missing but didn't inquire, and Sal didn't bother explaining that that piece of cloth was currently holding up a certain shaman's hair.

Hung in the breeze, their clothes quickly dried and they dressed again in their armor and headed back into the main room of the inn. There they found a slightly damp Tebrion sitting at one of the low tables, once again weaving his - wet - dark blue hair into the twin braids he always wore.

"The other two are fussing over their armor," he explained as the two females sat. "My robes are simple, easy to clean," he chuckled, gesturing at his plain once-white robes - they were now more of an eggshell color, thanks to the wear and tear they'd seen recently. They waved away the goblin innkeeper's offer of refreshment and simply waited in silence for the other two.

Sevei returned first, his mail armor gleaming, tying wet hair back from his face. Sal smiled to herself when she saw he still used the strip of cloth from her shirt to hold his hair back; her lower back tingled where her bare skin touched her armor, but she wasn't sure it was simply because of the contact.

Barely a moment later Mikael joined them, his hair in wet ringlets around his face.

"What? It'll dry straight," he said dryly, meeting the smiles of the group with a snort.

"I see you all decided on smelling better as well," Meraka commented.

Sevei settled into one of the empty chairs. "We are going to be at sea for a few days. When Tebrion told us where you had gone, it seemed like a good idea to us as well."

They dawdled in the inn, talking about anything and everything, for an hour before the overly friendly goblin innkeeper drove them all insane with her attempts to force food and drink on them; together they retreated to the docks once more, heading halfway down the dock toward the vessel they would soon be departing on.

Sal seated herself on the edge and allowed her feet to dangle above the water's surface, gazing at her reflection down below. She could see Tebrion and Mikael move passed her, and Meraka standing off to her far left. Sevei she couldn't see at all, and so she twisted around to see him sitting much like she was on the other side of the pier, his legs dangling and his tail wrapped close about his hips. She smiled to herself and turned back around, leaning over the water and kicking her feet in the air.

A thudding reached her through the wood beneath her, and she looked up to see a large human male striding toward them. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and bald with a reddish goatee. He was dressed in close-fitting red leather, pants and shirt, with a bright blue cloth vest tucked into a green sash and black knee-high boots; a dagger with a long, wide blade was tucked into his sash, and the man carried a wide-brimmed black hat in his hands.

"I'm Captain Ricksee," he said, sticking his hat under an arm and shoving his other hand out to the surprised druid. "Am I speaking to those adventurers I'm carrying to Booty Bay?"

"Uh, yes, that's us," she said, warily holding her hand out and allowing the flamboyant male to shake it.

"Excellent, excellent," he grinned as Meraka and Sevei too turned their attention to him. "I eagerly look forward to having you aboard. Pirate problems as of late have been increasing and I will rest easy with your added protection. I do hope that goblin didn't weedle too much gold out of you?"

"Not enough to miss," Tebrion commented, walking up beside the captain, Mikael close behind him.

Ricksee shook their hands as well. "Excellent, excellent," he said, nodding enthusiastically. "We are loading ahead of schedule, all we need do extra is figure in the rations you all will use in addition to my crew and then we can depart. Should not be too long now. Would you like a quick tour before things get rolling?"

As the colorful human led them toward the small ship, Mikael cleared his throat and gently grabbed Sal by the elbow, slowing her to walk beside him.

"Yes? What is it?" she asked, smiling up at him.

"I, uh...here," he said, looking slightly uncomfortable and embarrassed as he pulled the folded cloak from his pack. "I knew you didn't have one, and would likely need one, and I saw this one, and..." he trailed off, mentally berating himself for sounding like such an idiot.

Saliea took it from him, surprised, and unfolded the cloak to admire the cut (and was happy to see that it was actually short enough to fit her). "I...thank you, Mikael. It's beautiful," she said shyly, quickly refolding it and hugging it to her chest. The warlock simply grinned at her a moment longer, before composing himself and hurrying to catch up to the others.

Sal lingered behind them a moment longer, fingers rubbing across the soft but sturdy material of the cloak in her arms, then tucked it away into her backpack and scurried after the rest.

* * *

Later that afternoon the ship Spritely Dream left port. Once they had left the sheltering cove, a stiff breeze picked up and filled their sail; Ricksee was confident they would reach Booty Bay in three days if the wind held.

"A good wind, excellent excellent," he said, rubbing his hands together eagerly and cocking his hat at a jaunty angle as he paced around the deck, seemingly checking on everything at once.

Ricksee's second-in-command was a shorter male human named Connor, and Connor was the one who had shown them through the small vessel. It wasn't big at all; it was divided into few levels - at the very bottom of the ship was the cargo bay; above that was a small cooking galley, a narrow room with eight bunks for crewmembers, and a room meant for the captain's use; and above that was a partial level, a raised platform where the ship's wheel was located that looked out over the deck. Ricksee's crew, not counting himself, numbered six, and with the five companions they had found themselves short on sleeping space; a corner of the cargo area had been hastily converted into a sleeping area, three narrow cots pushed close together and offered to the group.

"You males can sleep down there and let the ladies have the bunks," Ricksee had decided.

Of the six crew members of Spritely Dream only one was female; Cassi was a pink-haired gnome and the unofficial repairwoman of anything that could possibly break onboard. She appointed herself to caring for the ship's extra guests when Ricksee had to attend to other things, and so spent her afternoons explaining much of how the ship functioned to the five.

"Let's just hope we don't run into any storms," she piped cheerfully, her tiny legs swinging in the air from her perch on the deck railing.

"We won't," Sevei said, leaning over the railing to gaze at the sea below. He looked up to see the rest of them staring at him. "I already checked. We shall have fine weather from here to port," he explained, gesturing with one hand to the air and the other to the water.

"He's a shaman," Tebrion explained when Cassi continued to stare in confusion at the draenei. The gnome simply shrugged, then scampered off at the call of another crew member.

The first day passed quickly, and the second day at sea came with a certain boredom; the crew introduced them all to a dice game they played to pass the time, and while Mikael and Tebrion amused themselves with that, the others opted to refrain from playing. Meraka watched, occasionally commenting on the lack of skill the warlock had, much to Mikael's annoyance.

Sevei spent most of his time sitting with his back pressed to the mast, face tilted to the sky, communing, those times when he did not manage to find a way to spend a few moments alone in Sal's company.

Saliea had also found something to occupy her; the sun was always bright, the sky remaining cloud-free as Sevei had told them it would, and so she stretched out on the prow of the ship in the sunshine, feeling the spray from the water below on the arm she let lazily dangle over the edge. She dozed, enjoying the warm sun and the fact that all she could see was water in every direction; the druid was used to solid ground beneath her feet, and so the sea made a nice change from the ordinary.

A thump on the wood behind her made her turn in time to see Mikael plunk himself down on the railing behind her.

"Tired of losing?" she teased.

"I swear they must be cheating," the warlock grumbled with a smile. "No one can be that good at a game that is mostly chance." He sighed and stretched; on the ship he had opted to leave his robes down with his other things in the hold, clad only in a light, tan cloth shirt and his leather pants and boots. Sal could see the back of his shirt was slightly clinging to him, and darkening as the sea spray began to wet it. The warlock stood and turned, leaning his elbows on the railing as he looked up at her. "Are you not afraid of falling?"

She shrugged. "If I fall I fall, but Cassi mentioned there are ropes with floating buoys on them trailing behind the ship on the off chance that anyone slips overboard. Besides," she went on, waving a hand dismissively, "I don't fear the water."

"Let me guess, you turn into a guppy?" the human said wryly. "A vicious, boat-eating guppy."

"Ha!" she laughed, shaking her head. "Actually, if you've ever looked at a map and seen the sea monsters scrawled on the edges? I posed for those personally."

Mikael threw back his head and laughed even as she did, shaking his head as he did so. "I would then have the mapmaker shot, for making the monsters so ugly and so unlike their model. Maps are supposed to be as accurate as possible, right?"

Sal blushed, glancing back down at the water. "Uh, y-yes."

Mikael smiled and abruptly turned, striding back toward the dice players, leaving Sal to her thoughts.

* * *

Elsewhere...someone was stirring. His body ached, his head pounded, and he was soaked in a cold sweat and tangled in his bedsheets.

For now, he was alone...and he was grateful. It was so rare that he found himself alone that he came to desperately cherish these fleeting moments.

It did not last long.

"Donnovan..."

The voice hissed into the darkness, and he was no longer alone...he despaired quietly. And waited.

* * *

"Land in sight, captain!" came the call from above, from the sailor clinging high to the mast.

"Excellent excellent!" Ricksee crowed, pumping one hand into the air enthusiastically. "What is our approximate arrival time?"

"Should be...captain! Sail on the horizon!" the sailor interrupted himself, pointing ahead and to starboard.

Ricksee frowned and pulled out a copper spyglass, extending it to its full length and putting it up to his eye. The captain was silent a long moment, then growled.

"They're flying the Bloodsail flag. What is our arrival time?"

Above, the sailor pulled out his own spyglass and focused on the tiny dot on the horizon that was Booty Bay. "...I'd put us at three, four hours out, sir, if the wind holds."

"Keep an eye on that pirate ship, report if it appears they're on an intercept course," Ricksee ordered, snapping his spyglass into his palm as he chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. "Cassi."

"Yes sir?" the gnome squeaked, hurrying to (literally) stand at the human's elbow.

"Ready the huller," he told her without looking down at her. "Don't attach it to the rails just yet, however. I'm not certain yet we'll need it."

The gnome saluted, and she and one of the other crew members hurried below and entered the captain's quarters, returning a moment later with a sizable crate in tow. The gnome pulled it open and began emptying it of a bizarre array of metal bits and pieces, and began to assemble the random parts into what looked like a rather large cross between a shotgun and a cannon. When it was put together completely it was nearly five feet long, the barrel making up most of its length. The crew member helping the gnome disappeared below once more, then returned lugging another box behind him; the gnome began to pull out solid metal balls about six inches in diameter - namely, the ammo for the 'huller.'

"Captain, the pirates have adjusted course. They plan to intercept," came the call from the watchful sailor above.

"Damn. Turn us," Ricksee called out. "See if we can't simply outrun them."

The ship creaked as its course was put more toward port; after a few minutes, the sailor informed them that the ship had corrected course to remain on an intercepting path.

"We're not going to outrun them, sir. They must have a mage aboard, as they're moving too fast for someone cutting across the wind and the waves."

"What quarter of the ship will they come up on?" the captain asked, stomping as he paced.

"I put them at...our backs. They're moving fast, but not fast enough to cut us off from the harbor."

Ricksee nodded to Cassi. "Affix the huller to the rear railing, ready it for combat." He then turned to Sal and the others, who were standing grouped together just behind the captain. "And as for you all, it would seem you will have to earn your passage the hard way," he sighed. "Nearly made it too."

Meraka shrugged at them, grabbed Mikael by the arm and pulled the male with her after Cassi; the two spellcasters would be most effective where they would be within range to hurl their spells at the pursuing pirates. Tebrion paced about the middle of the deck, intending to remain where he could shield and heal everyone with little trouble. Sevei and Saliea, both knowing they wouldn't be of much use unless the pirates tried to board, remained with the priest; they would do their best to help out wherever they could, until a more obvious role for them could be decided on.

The ship fell silent in anticipation, the sailor high above them occasionally shouting down updates on the pirate ship.

"Sir, they're going to get us a bird's flight out of the harbor," came the final call, with the pirate ship close enough for them to make out the tiny figures at the rails.

"Ready for battle, point us directly at Booty Bay and make a full run. Send up a distress flare to get the goblins' attention and be glad they don't intend to ram us."

The two vessels drew closer, and from the pirates came a rain of heavy hail arching for the deck of Spritely Dream. Mikael and Meraka, in unison, threw up a screen of fiery magic and the hail spattered to the deck as harmless - if a little warm - rain.

"Here we go!" Ricksee said. The crew, armed with bows, scrambled to the rails as the ships finally drew close enough to be within range and began to rain arrows at the enemy ship. The arrows soared true until they dropped close enough to have actually scored hits, then were swept aside by a magical barrier. Spritely Dream was soaring across the water, and the pirate ship was soon behind her but was now keeping pace.

"Crew tactics!" came a frightened shout. As one, the sailors all ducked as another barrage of magic - this time stinging arcane bursts - came after them, clattering against the rails and the side of the ship as the pirate magic users misjudged the distance.

"Crew tactics?" Sal asked.

Ricksee didn't look at her as he explained. "Crew tactics. They want the ship whole, want to stop us from moving because they can't catch us. Most effective way now is for them to disable the crew and force us off course."

"Not if I can help it," Sevei said, setting his feet and tossing something to the deck. Flaring into existence came another totem, pulsing bright blue and as it came into being a stiff wind picked up, filling the sails to straining and knocking aside the next magical barrage.

"Open up! Blow them a new bellybutton!" Ricksee called to Cassi.

"Aye aye!" the gnome squeaked, prepping the huller, aiming briefly and firing. The solid shot hit the magical shield and deflected slightly, skipping off the railing instead of plowing into the mast, knocking a sizable chunk out of the wood and causing several pirates to dive for cover. Cassi and her assistant raced to reload and aim once more.

Sevei was concentrating to maintain the totem he had summoned. Meraka and Mikael then opened with an impressive display of offensive magic - Meraka blasting away with a continuous stream of fireballs, Mikael pummeling away at the magical shield with shadowy blasts of raw energy. Under their concentrated attack the shield faltered and then shattered entirely, allowing their magic to rain upon the pirates standing on the deck.

"Goblin ships pulling out of the harbor sir," someone shouted.

"Put us on an avoidance course, run for the safety behind them and -"

"Captain!" Cassi shrieked. "Compartments opening on pirate prow! Hidden ballistae!"

"Everyone down!" Ricksee shouted as the pirates let fly.

Cassi dove and pulled Mikael and Meraka down with her as the heavy bolt from the ballista skipped off the railing, knocked the huller aside and flew down over the ducked heads of the crew on the main deck. Ricksee remained standing, the breeze from the passing bolt sending his great hat flying.

"Trim the sails!"

Sevei stood, recasting the protective totem. "...trim the sails? Aren't we trying to outrun them?" he asked, a look of surprise on his face.

"Not ours, theirs," the man replied, a feral grin on his face.

Cassi shoved all her weight on their gun, Mikael lending his weight to spin the gun and help re-aim it. Cassi reloaded it as another bolt flew by, this one skipping off the side of the ship and splashing into the ocean to bob along beside the racing ship.

The gnome sighted one more time, then fired; Meraka was up and attempting to aim her spells at the compartments that housed the ballista even as the shot from the huller snapped the enemy ship's mast. Pirates scattered as mast and sails crashed into the deck, and without sails with which to fill with magical winds the speed of the pirate ship dropped immediately.

Sevei slumped to his knees, panting and looking incredibly weary; the amount of concentration needed to keep the protective totem up and safely deflecting both magic and physical projectiles had drained him. The ballista bolts he hadn't even tried to deflect, knowing the effort alone would quickly sap him, and he couldn't even be sure he could have moved them enough to make any sort of difference.

Nearby Sal crouched over her brother, having shoved the chanting priest to the deck and standing protectively over him just in case the pirates had had something strong enough to break through their defenses. Tebrion lay on the deck, his eyes shut and still chanting as he wove protective holy magics around the bow-wielding sailors nearby; his magic wouldn't reach those standing above near the huller, however, but Mikael and Meraka had hardly needed his added protection.

"We'll make it," Ricksee said, grinning triumphantly. "Good work, everyone."

Mikael stood straight, tugging his robes back into place. "I don't think I like naval warfa-arrrgh," he grunted as a final arrow flew from the pirate ship and thudded deeply into his left forearm.

"Mikael!" Sal cried, pulling Tebrion upright and dragging him with her as she hurried to the warlock's side. The human had fallen to the side, leaning upright against the railing; with a trembling hand, he pulled the arrow free and let it drop to the deck.

"That...that hurt..." he gasped, shoving himself back to his feet with his uninjured arm. "Now I'm angry."

"Mikael, let Tebrion heal you-" Sal started, reaching for him as the warlock launched into a spellcasting, his good hand reaching inside his robes and pulling out a stone that glowed a venomous green.

"...isen makh rekt gar!" the warlock finished, snarling the last words. The stone shot from his hand like a bullet skyward with a bang as he allowed Saliea to tug him to a sitting position with Tebrion nearby.

As the priest began to work his healing arts, Mikael looked up to see Saliea looking at him with a curious expression.

"What?" he asked, grimacing as his wound began to heal.

"Oh, nothing...that sounded like you just said 'I send my regards,'" Sal said, smiling briefly at him. "What was that?"

Mikael nodded toward the pirate ship. "Watch and you'll...wait, what? I didn't say I sent my regards, I said 'isen makh rekt gar.'"

"It sounded like-" the druid stopped abruptly, eyes widening. Mikael followed their gaze upward, and grinned when he saw what she was now looking at.

"THAT is what I sent," he said quietly.

Above them in the sky, a greenish meteor was streaking for the pirate ship, trailing a faint green mist behind it. With an impressive bang it slammed into the deck of the other ship and caved in the timbers of the deck, and out of the smoking crater rose an angry infernal.

Sal was staring at it, a mixture of amazement and terror on her features. "How could you set something like that loose?"

"It can't exist on this plane for long," Mikael said, nodding his thanks to Tebrion when the elf pulled away. "It will cause a little havoc, then return to wherever it dwelled before I pulled it here."

He smiled at the druid, reaching to pat her shoulder...then realized his actions and quickly composed himself, affecting an expression of indifference. "When will we be reaching port?"

"Within minutes," Cassi answered from where she huddled on the deck nearby. "The goblin ships just passed us, heading for the pirates. They'll round up any survivors and see that they're properly dealt with."

"Good," he nodded, groaning as he got to his feet. "I think I've had enough of water to last me a while." And with that, the warlock disappeared down below, heading to lay upon his cot in the silence and the dark of the cargo hold; he let that rational voice of his run free within his mind, allowing it to remind him of who he was, and what he had been tasked to do...and most importantly, what would happen should he fail.

* * *

Ricksee shook their hands as they together walked onto the docks.

"...easily fixed," he was saying. "Only a minor crack just above the waterline from one of the ballista bolts, we didn't even take on much water. I will gladly sail with you again, if ever you find you need a ride back to Ratchet."

Tebrion bowed to the human. "We will certainly remember you, Captain. As for now, though, we are in a bit of a hurry."

"Of course, of course. Best of luck to you, in all you do," Ricksee beamed, waving to them all as the five hurried away.

Ricksee set his crew to unload their cargo before leaving the docks himself, heading for the lower levels and the darker taverns of Booty Bay. He swept his hat off, seating himself in a corner booth inside a seedy bar, and placed it on the table in front of him. The human immediately pulled it back and placed it in his lap as a dagger thunked into the wooden table before him where the hat had been moments before.

"I like this hat, do not damage it," he said dryly.

A shadow on the nearby wall detached itself and joined the captain at the table. Ricksee rested his chin in his hands and stared at the night elf that now sat across from him; the elf wore his light green hair in dredlocks, and had a single glinting earring in his right ear. The elf pulled a tobacco pipe from the collar of his studded leather tunic and lit it, blowing a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke at the human.

Ricksee purposely coughed. "You know I hate that junk."

The elf blew a perfect ring over the human's head. "Our master sends his congratulations on avoiding the pirates."

"What does he require of me now?"

"Nothing, for now. You have delivered them where they need to be."

Ricksee folded his hands on the table and leaned forward, brow furrowing. "Is their deaths his aim? I could have simply scuttled my ship and left them to drown."

The night elf shrugged. "I do not question, I only serve." He reached again into his armor and this time produced a jingling bag that he tossed to the human. "Your usual payment."

Ricksee counted the gold. "...there isn't enough here to repair my ship. If I am to continue to deliver whatever 'our master' demands, I must be able to keep my ship in top condition."

"Are you questioning?" the elf asked, one eyebrow raising. "I can always take word of your displeasure back...he always seems to be in a foul mood these days though. Can't guarantee how happy he'd be to hear of your complaints."

"Shut up, Donnovan," Ricksee snapped. "Play your little games, if that makes you happy. You're just a lapdog, more bark than bite and begging for table scraps."

The elf's eyes flashed dangerously. "I would govern my mouth were I you, human, or you'll be floating back to Ratchet." The elf stood. "You will be contacted in the usual way, if you are needed."

The human glared at the table until the elf had disappeared back into the shadows. He had done what he had been paid to do - deliver Saliea and her companions to Booty Bay. He reached out and tugged free the dagger the elf had left embedded in the table, turning the weapon over in his hands. Ricksee had become a trader, a ship captain, because he craved adventure - he loved that euphoria of the adrenaline rush, the bite of an injury received from a worthy foe, and the uncertainty of whether he would make it to his next port or not. He had been approached by the mysterious night elf, offered the chance of ultimate adventure, so long as he didn't ask questions; Ricksee had eagerly accepted, reveling at the added level of risk as his new jobs began to roll in.

However, lately...lately, more had been demanded of him. Moving strange items, people...Ricksee had agreed to never question, but the need for knowledge, for reasoning, was beginning to gnaw at him. Even a bit of guilt was eating at him, for he found that deep down, he had enjoyed the added company of the little druid and her friends.

He said he would gladly sail with them again, but he knew he would likely never see their faces on these docks ever again.


	10. Chapter 10

Their steps led them off the docks and onto the main thoroughfare of Booty Bay. Tebrion and Saliea had been through the port city once before, on their way to visit the Eastern Kingdoms years ago, and so weren't surprised by the press of the people - Horde and Alliance alike - and the cries of the merchants pushing their wares on passersby. Mikael simply pulled the hood of his cloak up and disappeared within it; the night elves were already accustomed to ignoring the people, and very few of those in the crowd seemed eager to approach the draenei. Only Meraka seemed minutely intrigued by the activity around them as they hurried through the town to seek out the gryphon master.

They were passing a tavern when someone nearby shouted "Datavian!"

Immediately, Mikael ripped his hood back and spun, eyes darting as he searched the faces of the people around him; Sal actually drew back at the look on his face, a mix of unbridled anger and anticipation. The druid was shoved aside by a rushing human female, who threw her arms around Mikael's neck and crushed her lips against his - the warlock's angry look quickly changed to surprise as he pried the woman off him.

"Datavian, you returned! I never thought I'd see you again, I-"

She squeaked when Mikael seized her shoulders and gave her a rough shake. "You've seen Datavian? Where? When? Tell me!"

The woman sputtered as the warlock shook her again, a look of terror on her face. "I, you're not Datavian, I thought-"

"Tell. Me. NOW," Mikael snarled, his close to hers.

Tebrion pulled them apart, ignoring the woman when she clung to his waist, shaking in fear. "Mikael, what in all hells has gotten into you?" he snapped, pushing him away from the female.

Sal grabbed Mikael's arm and was promptly shaken off, the warlock scowling and glaring at the woman.

"How long ago was he here? Where did he go?"

"I...several years ago. H-he went n-n-north," she stuttered, then immediately bolted from Tebrion and disappeared into the shaded doorway of the tavern she'd come out of.

Tebrion again shoved Mikael, a look of anger on the normally gentle priest's face. "What is wrong with you?"

The warlock spun, pulling his hood back up and ignoring him. "Come," he growled, stomping off into the crowd.

The four of them exchanged startled, confused looks, and hurried after him. Mikael obviously knew his way around Booty Bay, for he led them around and into a certain inn, winding his way through the patrons of the downstairs bar and leading them up the stairs and out onto a higher level of the city. He strode up a ramp and up another set of stairs, then turned a corner and there the gryphon master waited.

Meraka hung back, grunting. "A slight problem..." she said slowly.

Sal slapped her palm into her forehead. "Horde. Right. Damn, I didn't think of that."

"Hmm?" Tebrion asked, looking between the two females - and casting another glare at the brooding warlock who stood just ahead of them.

"Meraka is Horde. The gryphon master may not be...friendly. Or he at least will refuse her service. That is why there is more than one flight master within Booty Bay."

"Damn, indeed..." Tebrion muttered. "Perhaps they'd be willing to make an exception?"

"I c'n hear ye, ye know," the dwarven flight master said dryly. They turned as the dwarf headed toward them, nodding at them all politely.

"I'll be perfectly honest with ye, me gryphons know all the paths from here to Menethil, Horde and Alliance alike. But..." he said, raising a bushy eyebrow. "The goblins 'ere have strict rules concerning faction-based sales. They claim ta want ta keep it a free port, with equal opportunity for commerce, but they have rules in place. I am not allowed to sell you a flight, on threat of being removed from the city," he said, bowing to Meraka. "Ta me, coin be coin, but there's law ta be followed."

"We will simply have to meet up on the road," the mage said with a shrug, turning to head back down the ramp and the stairs, to make her way to the Horde flight master.

Loud footsteps sounded behind the group moments before a huge tauren in a captain's hat and a squat goblin rounded the corner and stopped beside them, halting Meraka as they blocked the doorway.

"Baron Revilgaz," the dwarf said, bowing deeply. "What c'n I do fer ya?"

"I'm here to speak with the elf and her companions, actually," the goblin said, grinning and winking. "I know you came in on Spritely Dream, and stopped pirates from taking the ship. A few of my own personal items were on that ship, and so I'm willing to offer a reward as a sign of my thanks. Name what you with and if it is within my power to grant it, it is yours."

Tebrion clapped a hand over Saliea's mouth and pushed her aside. "We all need to arrive together at our destination," he said quickly. "Would you grant our orc friend here permission to purchase a flight from our kind dwarven friend here? We are headed to Nethergarde and she must arrive with us – there will be a much better chance of her arriving safely, rather than being shot down, if she were mounted upon a gryphon."

The goblin blinked at them. "Nethergarde? Why would you all be heading there?"

Sal bit Tebrion's fingers and the priest let go with a start, glaring at her as he wiped his fingers on his robe even as she leaned around him to face Revilgaz. "We're in a hurry, traveling together. It would take too long to explain our reasons. Please. Will you permit the flight master to sell her a ride?"

Revilgaz rubbed his chin, thinking. "Well...I suppose I could, but...you realize that I can't be held responsible for the reception she would find, in an Alliance outpost?"

"We understand that, and are ready to accept what comes. What is important is we all arrive together," Sal went on.

Revilgaz rubbed his chin a moment longer, then nodded choppily. "Very well. Just this once, and ONLY to this orc," he added, nodding to the dwarf.

"Thank you," Meraka said, bowing to him. The goblin waved a hand dismissively and, nodding to the tauren, disappeared back down the stairs.

"That seemed entirely too convenient..." Tebrion muttered as the flight master cleared his throat.

"Well then, let me see...I've only got three gryphons here currently, as I've sent out a few flights that ain't come back yet. Yeh'll have to ride two to a bird, which will slow yer travel time a bit."

"We need to leave immediately, so a slower travel time isn't an issue," Tebrion said. He reached for the gold he had taken from the Ratchet dock master. "How much will our passage be?"

The dwarf named his price and Tebrion paid him - tipping him an extra gold piece - and then he clapped his hands together with a grin. "All right then. Two to a bird, one o' ye rides solo. Let's put the smallest there with-"

"I ride alone," Mikael said sharply, not turning to look at them from where he stood gazing out over the port below them.

"I, er," the dwarf started, looking at him in slight confusion. "It would be better if-"

"I ride," Mikael repeated quietly, "alone."

The dwarf didn't argue, just shrugged and led out the first gryphon. The beast ruffled his wings and whipped his tail around as Mikael was settled onto his back and strapped on, then the dwarf gave the gryphon his orders and off it went, gracefully diving over the edge and beating its wings once to get airborne. They watched it soar over the town and disappear over the jungle beyond.

"Er, right. Let's see..even weight distribution would put ye and ye-" and the dwarf pointed to Tebrion and Meraka - "on a bird together."

Sal watched as the dwarf strapped the two of them onto the next gryphon he led out, Meraka sitting in front of the priest because of her chest size and the fact that Tebrion was taller than she. With a start, it dawned on Saliea that she would be riding with Sevei; she carefully glanced at the shaman standing beside her. He looked incredibly weary, his face drawn with exhaustion with darkened circles beneath his eyes. A whoosh of wind told her that the gryphon bearing her brother and the mage had taken off, and the dwarf was already leading out the next one.

Sal blushed when she clambered up onto the animal in front of the shaman, not looking as the dwarf strapped her legs to the harness, then belted her and Sevei together at the waists and then secured them both to the gryphon.

"Yer small, so his bulk oughta' keep you on the bird," the dwarf laughed, patting the gryphon and ordering it to follow its fellows.

Sal's stomach fell when the gryphon tipped over the edge of the flight master platform and swept its wings downward to gain altitude; she had never really liked riding gryphons - they weren't as graceful as a hippogryph in the air until they had gained enough height to glide.

She felt Sevei bump against her back as the gryphon leveled up, then began to climb into the air; she swallowed the slight embarrassment she felt when his hands brushed her legs, but then reminded herself that quite a bit of her was in contact with the male...and that didn't help her blushing much.

The jungle canopy rushed by below them, a solid curtain of lush green, as they left the port city behind and turned northeast.

"I wonder what bothered Mikael so much, about being mistaken for Datavian. I know this Datavian is a rogue warlock, but that woman seemed happy to see him, rather than terrified, like you'd think she would be if she were face to face with a criminal," she said. Sevei shook his head; he couldn't hear her clearly with the wind rushing by them. He reached an arm around her and pulled her back into his chest, angling her head to his shoulder, then tipped her chin back so her mouth was near his ear.

Flushing madly, Sal cleared her throat and repeated what she'd said, resting her hands on the draenei's arm that was still draped across her lap. She felt him shrug beneath her, then yawn.

"Who knows? Perhaps it would be better not to ask him until he is in a better mood," he replied, bending down to place his lips by her ear. Sal watched him, doing her best to keep her breathing even and praying the shaman couldn't feel her heart racing; she didn't know that he was actually thinking the same thing, painfully aware of how close she was, and enjoying every minute of it.

After a few more moments, Sevei pulled his arm from around her and she sat back up, chewing on her bottom lip as she willed her face to return to its normal hue. The druid instead concentrated on the trees flashing by below, and on the delightful scents wafting up from the exotic plants far below.

Later, with the green of the jungle still below them, she felt Sevei gently jerk behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see him rubbing at his eyes with one hand and yawning again. Returning her attention to the life below them, soon enough she felt him jump again. This repeated a few more times, then the elf felt a solid thunk against her shoulders and the back of her head.

She winced as she pulled her hair free, holding her breath as she gently turned to find herself nearly nose to nose with the draenei - fast asleep on her back. A feeling of...incredible fondness swelled in the elf with such intensity it surprised her. More than anything she found she didn't want to wake him, but she couldn't imagine the way he'd fallen asleep to be comfortable; he was slumped over her, his right cheek pressed to her right shoulder, his face at first having been buried in her hair. If she turned her head, her cheek would rest against his forehead.

'His neck will be sore when he awakes...' she thought to herself, then got an idea that sent a chill down her back.

Gingerly, holding her breath once more, Sal inched a hand to the straps securing them to the gryphon and loosened them with a flick of her fingers. Carefully she reached a hand up and laid it lightly on the back of his neck, praying to Elune that he would not awaken; shifting her hips, Saliea laid out mostly flat up the gryphon's shoulders and neck, guiding Sevei down with her so he laid on her back with his head pillowed on her shoulder.

Sal found herself breathing hard then, emotions running wild as she craned her neck to gaze upon the sleeping shaman.

'He looked so tired...he needs his rest if we're to travel to Outland quickly.'

And then...

'This...is nice, I don't think I mind being his pillow,' she found herself thinking, shivering slightly as she turned those words over in her mind.

She crossed her arms before her, resting her chin on them and staring ahead over the gryphon's head; her legs were protesting the minor strain she was placing on them, but she wasn't about to shift to get more comfortable. Idly, the druid wondered how long this flight was going to last, and highly embarrassed herself when the mental image of her...facing the shaman and laying like this...only it wasn't on a gryphon but under a star-swept sky-

She bit down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood, then grimaced as she licked at them. Again she shivered, and forcibly pushed all thoughts away except for those dealing with the jungle life far below them. Later, as the trees were beginning to give way to red rock and scrubby grass, she heard and felt the shaman behind her inhale sharply and freeze.

"...Saliea?"

"Yes, Sevei?"

"I uh...I appear to be..."

"Yes, laying on me," she chuckled, wondering briefly what sort of expression was on his face. "I am sorry, I did not mean - I mean, I didn't want - well, I uh-"

Sal laughed, again feeling a strong sense of fondness toward the stammering male. "Sevei. It is fine, you are fine. You would have found out much sooner if I didn't want you - uh..." and this time Sal trailed off, eyes widening as she desperately sought a better way to word what she meant to say. "I would have awakened you, if laying on me was unacceptable," she said finally.

"I am still very sorry..."

She twisted to look at him over her shoulder, able to see only the top of his head. "Really, it's fine. I didn't mind at all; you looked so tired."

"I was," he admitted. "I was primarily trained in combat, so utilizing the other branches of shamanic magic sometimes takes much more effort for me. With time, I will master all aspects...but for now, some things tire me more than others."

Sal awkwardly reached up and over and patted his head gently. "I know exactly how you feel. I'm just an overgrown housecat - I sometimes wish my healing arts were better than they are, but they take years to learn and even longer to master."

They fell silent a while, the jungle giving way entirely to rock and bare earth below. Finally, Sevei cleared his throat.

"You are...certain, that my laying on you is...acceptable?"

"Yes, I'm certain," she said shyly, glad he could not see her face.

"Then...perhaps I will rest, just a bit longer."

Her breath caught in her throat when his hand found hers where it dangled freely by her knee; he gave it a gentle squeeze, then let it fall from his hand where it returned to hanging down the side of the gryphon. The druid buried her face into the soft feathers of the gryphon, smiling to herself as she felt him carefully settling himself with a deep breath.

* * *

They had both sat up when Nethergarde Keep finally came into view, their mount spiraling down to land nimbly on a raised wooden platform next to a human female.

"More of you? Where are you all heading?" was their greeting as the female released their straps and stepped away to let them slide to the ground. Saliea grimaced and ignored her, stretching protesting muscles instead as she followed Sevei - also limping slightly - down the winding ramp that led to the ground below.

Ahead of them, wrapped in his cloak with the hood drawn up again, Mikael stood silently with his arms crossed, legs set wide, staring stonily toward the main gates leading out of the keep. He didn't look up as the druid and shaman approached, continuing to gaze out the gates, his only movement being the ride and fall of his chest as he breathed.

"Mikael...?" Saliea started slowly, carefully stepping around to stand before him.

His eyes were all that moved, fixating on her. "Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

The warlock blew out a heavy sigh. "I'm fine, really. I apologize for...losing my temper like that."

She cocked her head to the side, looking up into his face. "Why would being mistaken for Datavian make you angry?"

He shrugged then, looking incredibly uncomfortable. "Uh...being mistaken for someone terrible, when you aren't, uh..."

Sal let the silence stretch on several moments after he had trailed off, then shook her head and sighed. "Very well then - where is my brother? And Meraka?" she asked suddenly, just then noticing the absence of the two.

Mikael waved a hand in irritiation. "Apparently helping one another get dressed."

The elf blinked at him. "Get...dressed?"

The human shrugged. "Meraka said something about putting on battle robes, asked Tebrion to help her. Off they went."

"How was Meraka received, when you arrived?" Sevei asked him, glancing around at the keep's defenders who all moved about their business around the three adventurers. They seemed to be intrigued by the draenei, but were all too busy to stop and openly gawk; Sevei ignored their curiosity best he could, instead focusing on Mikael and Saliea. Saliea flashed the draenei a brief smile, knowing well what he was pointedly ignoring, then turned her attention back to the warlock who looked like he was trying not to smile and ultimately failing.

Finally, with a chuckle and a small grin, Mikael nodded at the guards milling around them. "Well, at first they wanted to throw her out, then lock her up, and then Shathuun shook a few of them upside down. Their minds changed pretty quickly."

"You also threatened to set them on fire if they laid a hand on her."

Saliea turned as Tebrion walked back up to them, raising an eyebrow as she took in his new 'look.' The priest still wore robes, but they were newer - still white, but had a dark gray sash as well as stitching done in a lighter gray thread that wrapped around his abdomen and down his sleeves. Upon further investigation, Saliea could make out that the stitching were holy symbols of warding, meant to increase focus and channel divine energy.

"Where did you get those?" she asked dryly.

"I bought them. These are a spare set of robes from one of the priests stationed here; he was willing to sell them to me, since mine were so shabby," he explained. He stomped his feet, lifting the edge of his robes to show his scuffed brown boots. "He offered a new pair of boots to me as well, but I'm too attached to these. They're comfortable."

The druid rolled her eyes. "You are such a female sometimes."

"Oh hush, did you want me running around in threadbare robes?" he said, mock-glaring at her.

Soft footsteps heralded Meraka's arrival, and they turned in unison as she approached, Tebrion whistling.

"Impressive robes, Meraka."

"Oh. Thank you," she said, looking a tad embarrassed.

The orc had removed her plain travel robes and now wore ones in different shades of blue and green, with heavy leather straps wrapped around her waist, forearms, chest, and with two thick straps just hanging down her front that attached to the leather trim along the robe's bottom. The straps around her waist had small pouches attached, likely for spell components - her dark blue gloves were fastened to the straps around her forearms, and she wore a short cape that attached to those straps that covered her chest. Matching blue boots poked out from under the robe hem; Meraka cleared her throat and looked everywhere but at them, her face tinged a slight red.

Mikael paced around her, looking at them from every angle. "Those are quite impressive. Where did you get them?"

"They were a gift. From my...father," she said quietly. "I only wear them when I know I shall be heading into heavy combat."

"Unfortunately, we have no idea what we're heading into," Mikael said lightly. "But best to be prepared I suppose."

Tebrion clapped a hand on his sister's shoulder and then one on Meraka's. "Well then, shall we get going before Mikael has to shove guards around again?"

"The quicker we move the better," Sal agreed, shrugging. "We've a long walk ahead of us."

"Actually," Tebrion said lightly, winking. "A little gold in the right hands, thanks to yours truly, secured us mounts for the trip. We only need drop them off inside the portal and the troops going to and from Outland will return them...or so said the men who lent them."

The priest led them to the gates, where four men waited with the mounts Tebrion had paid for; a large black horse pawed the ground, and the man holding the reins motioned for Sevei to come.

"Yer the bigges' so you get this'un," he said, handing the reins to the draenei and stepping back.

There were three horses and a single white battle tiger. Tebrion swung up onto the tiger, pulling Saliea up in front of him. Sal smiled and stroked the soft fur of the feline where it poked from underneath the armor the cat wore - the cat stretched its head around and blinked serenely at her.

Meraka stood before her horse stiffly. "Need I remind you we use wolves to get around?"

"Do you not know how to ride?" Mikael asked, wheeling his horse around to nudge up beside her.

"...a horse, no, I do not," she said quietly.

Tebrion hopped down from behind Saliea and headed over. "I shall teach you then. Come on, up in front of me-" he said, mounting and then offering the orc a hand up. "Hold here and here, and here we go."

A moment later the four of them thundered out of the keep, Tebrion instructing Meraka in the basics of handling a horse out in front of the others; Mikael rode to Sal's left, and Sevei hung to her right and just behind her. Sal quickly fell back into the habit of rocking with the big cat's motions as they rode - it had been so long since she'd ridden a mount; vaguely she wondered if Neera, the last feline she'd ridden, even remembered her.

Boring, broken rock all the same coppery red color rushed by them as they rode down the narrow, winding road they'd been told led to the Dark Portal. Secretly the druid looked forward to entering the portal simply to get a change of environment; they raced passed mad-looking boars and shadowy figures that clung to the rocks and watched them pass warily. Those had to be members of the cultists they had been warned about in Nethergarde; the figures kept to themselves, but there was always that eerie feeling of being constantly followed and observed.

As they rode, Mikael began to slow his horse, glancing behind them every so often. When he was finally at shouting distance, Sal nodded for Sevei to keep going as she reined her cat in and spun around.

"Mikael, quit..." she said, eyes slowly widening.

The human was drawing close now as Sal came to an abrupt stop. "What?" he asked when the druid wheeled her mount around and shouted it into an all-out sprint. He half-turned in his saddle, and when he spied what Saliea had, a most elaborate stream of curses came rushing out of his mouth as he kicked his mount into a gallop.

The two caught up with the rest and shouted for them to go faster.

"What's wrong?" Tebrion shouted over the thundering of feet.

"Just go!" the warlock and druid responded.

Sal turned to Mikael, the warlock having returned to her side. "You were checking behind us and MISSED THAT?"

"I was looking behind not up!" he protested. "I didn't know dragons were native to this area!"

"Dragon?" Meraka asked, looking surprised. "There aren't any-"

An ear-splitting roar silenced her, and Mikael gave her a look that plainly said 'oh, really?'

"N-nevermind, I could always be wrong," the mage stammered, eyes wide.

Sevei twisted and looked behind them; spiraling out of the sky high above was a sizable dragon with dirty tan and black scales and a mouth leaking liquid fire. It was fixated on them, snarling as it beat its wings to hasten its descent. Looking ahead, the shaman could just make out the lip of the crater leading to the portal.

"We aren't going to make that unless we slow that beast down," he shouted, spinning back around in the saddle.

Mikael ground his teeth together, then sped off to their side with a "Leave that to me!"

"Mikael, wait, WAIT-" Sal started, but the warlock was already running toward the descending dragon.

'I'm crazy. You are crazy. This is crazy,' Mikael chanted to himself as he eyed the landing dragon. 'Where in all hells did a damn dragon come from?!'

Mikael pulled his horse to a protesting stop, fighting to keep the animal from bolting - it could smell the dragon above and wanted dearly to run from the impending danger. A moment later, Mikael let it as the dragon reared back and let loose with a spray of molten fire that spattered the ground where he had been a moment ago. The ground shook as the dragon landed and immediately gave chase, Mikael running his mount in an erratic zigzag to keep from being caught in that deadly breath.

The dragon, however, finally got wise. The horse below him gave a horrible scream of terror and pain as it was brutally blasted out from under the warlock; for a moment Mikael retained his momentum, flying through the air, but then hit the ground and rolled for several feet before coming to a rest at the base of a large rock.

"Not good..." he groaned, hugging hurt ribs and panting, looking up in time to see the dragon inhaling. He scrambled on hands and knees to the rear of the rock and ducked, gasping as the heat sucked the air from him. Wheezing, he went into a casting; a large, blue mass of gas appeared and resolved into the glaring form of a voidwalker, Mikael's very own cranky Graz'nar.

"What do you want with me?" it snarled in its ethereal voice.

"Run. THAT direction," Mikael ordered, pointing to his left.

The voidwalker obeyed, and moments later he heard a terrified protest.

"And WHAT do I do with THAT?"

"Distract it a moment!" Mikael was already casting again, praying this spell wouldn't fail like it had in the past.

"How?"

"I don't know, look tasty or something!"

With a final gesture Mikael anxiously waited, praying to any deity listening that this time his intended summon would be paying attention. Finally, with a blast of sulphur-smelling air and a crackle of superheated rock, a giant dreadsteed was pawing the ground before him, eyes flaming in hatred as it eyed its master.

"Good beast, good," Mikael breathed, leaping to its back and rushing out from behind the rock.

Behind him the dragon chased a fleeing Graz'nar around, ignoring the fact that the warlock was escaping. Mikael resolved to reward the demon servant whenever he next got a chance; the edge of the crater came into view, and the dreadsteed leapt fearlessly off the side, landing without a sound and racing for the giant portal that was now in view.

At the gates of the portal stood a well-armored draenei and an orc, along with Saliea and the others. Sal was gesturing back the way they'd come, and looked incredibly relieved when she spied Mikael - a look that changed slightly when she took in what mount he was now on.

"We will duck through the portal should it come this way," the draenei was saying to her, his armor clanking slightly as he shook her hand. "We thank you for the warning."

"Let's move, Graz'nar won't be alive much longer," Mikael gasped, dismissing the demonic horse in one gesture and landing in a crouch as the mount dissipated beneath him. Without a word he swung up behind Saliea on the sabercat, taking a deep breath to calm himself as they together moved through the enormous glittering doorway.

* * *

One of the figures detached itself from the shadows, chewing on the end of his pipe as he took in the spectacle of the dragon chasing the warlock's pet. With a great lunge, it caught the voidwalker in its jaws and bit down, popping the demon like a soap bubble; Graz'nar disappeared in a puff of black smoke, leaving the dragon roaring in disappointment. It thrashed around some, took out its anger on an unfortunate boar nearby, then took to the air again to return to the lair Donnovan had summoned it from.

"Hope you were watching all of that," he said to the air around him, knowing well that the intended person could hear everything he said. "They seem fixated on their goal. They will require a more challenging obstacle."

He felt a deep compulsion to return, and with a sigh blew out a smoke ring and pulled a mirror from within his tunic. Gazing into the mirror's face - seeing not his own face, but a swirling ring of glittering green - Donnovan spoke the right trigger word and teleported away from the Blasted Lands.

He appeared in a dark room, lit by the light of a single torch set into the far wall. He knew that behind him was a heavy wooden door bound in steel bands, and in the dark before him was a large, four-post bed full of soft blankets and a single occupant.

The occupant was a bald human, the only hair on his head being a black, well-trimmed beard that clung to his jawline. The man was sitting up, bare-chested but covered waist-down with a heavy blanket, holding a glass sphere in his hands.

"So they won't be easily defeated," he mused, not looking up at the night elf. "This pleases me. They would not be worth my attention if they fell in such a simple attack. And the elf is a pretty one...I desire to try her, and to taste the priest."

"Count on you to keep your priorities straight," Donnovan muttered, and puffed deeply on his pipe.

The man sat the sphere down on the bedside table, onto a stand obviously meant to hold the thing. The only other object on the table was the pitiful remains of a candle, burnt low and currently not lit. Donnovan was always amazed at how tidy the man kept his bedchambers.

"The draenei was quite handsome too. I didn't get a chance to closely observe the orc or the human."

The man nodded to himself after several long moments of silence. "Perhaps I shall find a use for those two yet." His gaze shifted, and Donnovan shuddered at the look in the man's eyes, and knew what was expected of him even before the human patted the bed beside him. "Join me, Donnovan. And take that damned earring out."

The elf narrowed his eyes, knowing full well that he couldn't disobey such a direct order; stiffly, he sat his pipe on the table and sat, shuddering again as an arm snaked around his waist. Hand shaking, Donnovan pulled the earring from his ear and sat it next to his pipe. Immediately, the elf's appearance changed; the dredlocks gave way to incredibly straight dark green hair, the youthful appearance became more haggard, more drawn. Donnovan's eyes lost their silvery luster and became golden, and his smooth face now had a scraggly beard.

The man pouted as he ran a hand down the elf's cheek. "You've been shaving again. You know I don't like that."

Donnovan stiffly shoved the hand away. "Go to hell."

"I have," the man chuckled, sighing and shoving Donnovan off the bed. "Nevermind, the mood isn't there."

'Thank Elune,' Donnovan thought darkly, gathering his earring and pipe and rushing from the room before the man changed his mind.

Alone now, the human picked up the sphere and gazed into it, murmuring the incantation for scrying. The images he received were fuzzy and confused, and he nodded to himself - it was to be expected. They were now through the portal and the fel energies of the land would interfere greatly with any attempts of his to monitor them. He rubbed his hand over the sphere, ending the spell and darkening the glass once more. If they were truly following the instructions planted in the gemstone they'd found, their likely first stop beyond the portal would be to either Honor Hold or Thrallmar...most likely Honor Hold.

He swung his feet out from under the blankets and padded, naked, across the floor to the only other piece of furniture in his room - a wardrobe. From within he pulled a dark blue undergarment and robes of deep purple. He pulled the blue garment on, settling it, then began to carefully tug the robes on; the top of the robe, the part above his waist, was more or less an elaborate set of straps that crossed his ribs and upper arms, connecting to the blue garment underneath. They were just regular robes, so far as the material below his waist was concerned; he didn't much care for them, but they were robes of status, of stature – they marked him clearly for what he was, and that was all that mattered.

He pulled from within the very back of the wardrobe a gnarled and twisted, sinewy purple and red staff that glowed a soft gold, and then a book that, when he touched it, felt like it was welcoming back an old friend. The book he stroked softly, hugging it to his chest, before checking his robes to see that they were straight and then sweeping from the room.

He had things to take care of.


	11. Chapter 11

They now stood on the top of a great staircase, staring down in mute horror at the monstrosity that towered over a struggling group of Horde and Alliance defenders.

"A pit commander," Sevei and Mikael snarled together, eying the behemoth.

"Should we help them?" Tebrion asked, flexing his fingers and licking his lips.

Mikael nodded shortly, leading the charge down the stairs, flinging his cloak off and over his shoulder as he went. His hands were going into a spellcasting when the pit lord roared and a gaping tear ripped open along its abdomen, which brought Mikael to a pause in his spell; still below them, at the base of the stairs, the defenders let out a ragged cheer, closing ranks around the one - whether it was Horde or Alliance wasn't apparent yet - that had so damaged the demon. The defenders surged forward, and before Mikael and the others had reached the bottom of the stairs the pit lord was buried under the combined might of the defenders.

They slowed their sprint down the stairs as Horde and Alliance separated, eying each other warily but still recognizing the assistance each had given the other.

Breathing hard from his run down the stairs, Mikael shook his head, staring at the slain pit lord; the body even now was beginning to decay in the rapid way that demonic corpses tended to. "Quite a welcome," he gasped, laughing briefly. He retreated up a few steps to retrieve his discarded cloak, wadding it under an arm as he stomped back up to where they had left their mounts milling free just inside the portal. Attracting the attention of a sentry at the bottom of the stairs, they left the animals in his care, telling him they were to be returned to Nethergarde. Saliea patted the side of her nightsaber, smiling when the beast purred at her, the sound akin to far-off thunder. The great cat nuzzled her side, nearly knocking the tiny elf off her feet; Sevei steadied her with a gentle hand, smiling down at her. Clearing her throat with a shy smile on her face, the druid stepped over to Mikael and pulled his cloak from his hands.

"Uh..." the warlock said, raising an eyebrow at her.

She winked. "You'll get it back." She took the cloak and hurried to Meraka, tossing the garment around the startled orc's shoulders, pulling it straight and clasping it, then tugging the hood up.

"There. You should pass for a human so long as no one looks close or hears you speak," she said, smiling. "We'll have to just keep an eye on you so no one notices you're an orc in an Alliance outpost."

Meraka extended a hand up and pulled the hood down lower. "An excellent idea, I do not want a repeat of Nethergarde, but first..." She hurried down the stairs, rushing up to a group of trolls and orcs, pulling them close and speaking in low tones.

Tebrion shrugged as he watched her. "Come on then, let's head down."

They descended and angled toward the Alliance side of the wide landing at the stair bottom; Meraka, hood pulled down low, rejoined them.

"I left word with them to send warnings to any and all Horde outposts here, in Zangarmarsh, and in Nagrand, since I am unfamiliar with this world."

"Good idea," Mikael said with a nod, leading them through the throngs of Alliance fighters who clustered around on their half of the landing; tents and stacks of crates crowded the defenders together, a lot of things pushed into the small area. With a few muttered questions, Mikael was finally pointed toward the dwarven flight master and his gryphons. Casting a quick glance behind him at Meraka, he squared his shoulders and stepped up to the dwarf.

The flight master greeted them heartily, and listened as he explained what they required.

"We require a ride to the nearest outpost," Mikael finished.

"I c'n send ye as far as Honor Hold. My birds are needed, so I can't spare 'em for long."

Mikael bowed to the dwarf. "Understood."

"Good good," he said, scratching at his scruffy red beard. "Gimme a moment and I'll get ye into the air."

Mikael stretched gingerly, then grimaced and grabbed at his chest; Tebrion, a concerned look on his face, took a step toward the human but stopped when he was waved away.

"It'll pass, it's just a few bruises from my tumble of my horse earlier," he said with a smile, inwardly knowing that that was not, in fact, what was bothering him - the run down the stairs coupled with his interrupted spellcasting must have aggravated it.

Tebrion sighed and shrugged - he couldn't exactly hold the human down and force healing on him, after all.

Minutes later they were all aloft on gryphon mounts, on their way to Honor Hold.

Sal was trying to keep her mind occupied on something other than the absolute...wrongness, that permeated the landscape. The blasted, broken earth assaulted her senses, saddened her as she surveyed the earth below her. Sevei had told her little of what had happened here, and she was almost glad she hadn't pressed him; she wasn't certain she wished to know what had caused such devastation.

A crumbling walled fortress came into view ahead, and the gryphon altered its course to glide down toward it. After circling several times, the mount landed and a female dwarf with wild blue facial tattoos greeted them.

"Welcome ta Honor Hold," she said, patting the gryphons as their riders dismounted.

"Thank you," Sal said, smiling at her.

"What brings you here? Are you our reinforcements?"

They turned to see a tall, blonde man in elaborate robes striding toward them.

"Uh, no, sorry. We need to speak with the commander here, however," Tebrion said with a slight bow.

"I am Marshal Isildor," the man introduced himself. "You will want to speak to Trollbane. You will find him in the keep yonder," he said, pointing. They followed the direction of his finger, looking beyond an inn and a tall tower to gaze upon a towering stone structure.

"Thank you," Sal said, pushing the cloaked figure of Meraka before her before Isildor took a better look at her. As they went passed the inn, they brushed passed what appeared to be a blonde high elf in black and orange armor; he gave them a brief nod as he went by them, entering the inn and disappearing from sight. They hadn't paid him much attention, merely returned his nod and avoided bumping into him, but Sal wondered what he was doing here - he looked quite out of place, though even on Azeroth he would have been out of place as well.

Stepping into the doorway leading into the keep, Mikael stopped to let his eyes adjust to the dim torchlight; Saliea bumped into his back, her own vision partially blinding her.

"Uh...sorry," she said softly, looking embarrassed.

He chuckled, taking her hand and putting it in the crook of his arm. "No need to apologize, I'm currently blind as well."

Her face flushed; looking away, she saw Sevei looking at her, blinking in the dim lighting. He abruptly looked from her, and Sal swallowed hard, disentangling her hand from Mikael's and letting it drop to her side. The hurt expression on Mikael's face disappeared as soon as it had appeared; the warlock cleared his throat, then jerked his head toward the inside of the keep.

"Let's find this Trollbane," he said quietly.

Saliea fell to the back of the group as they moved through the keep, thinking. She was beginning to realize, more clearly than ever, why exactly the attentions of Sevei pleased her...in fact, she almost felt foolish for having not immediately realized what was affecting her. The familiar pleasant, floating sensation that assailed her when he smiled at her, and the sound of his laughter in her ears, and generally just being in his presence...

Inwardly, she wondered if this was truly what she believed it was, or if it was merely a passing infatuation as she had been telling herself for some time now. If it was, truly, the actual thing... Saliea was not quite so young as her looks and size would lead one to believe, but she was young enough that matters of the heart were still unknown to her. Growing up she constantly had others hovering over her, monitoring her health and watching her progression in the druidic arts. Romance and the like were left by the wayside as she learned to shift her form into wild and natural forms, learned how to harness the wild energies of the sky to call down cyclones and storms, and learned how to utilize her connection to the world to heal and mend wounds. These matters of the heart...these were new territories, and she stole a glance at the shaman and smiled to herself quietly.

There was Sevei...a good and kind friend, who seemed to have more than friendship in mind – something she felt would soon be addressed and she would need to decide how to handle it. And, there was also the matter of the warlock...yet something else she would need to decide how to handle when the proper time came.

Blowing out a frustrated sigh then, the druid pushed all those thoughts into a dark corner in her mind, telling herself she would explore them later when she had time – she was here to hunt demons, not hearts.

As they climbed a set of stairs and rounded a corner, a crowd of humans and dwarves pushed passed them, all arguing over what sounded like a matter of tactics. Silently, Sal and the others stepped aside and allowed them all to pass, not receiving so much as a glance from the bickering crowd. Taking a deep breath, Tebrion nodded toward the room they had exited, the only room that now stood before the companions.

They edged through the doorway, coming into a plain stone room with messy wooden desks and chairs in twin rows up the center of the room, leading up to a raised dais on which a single long wooden table sat surrounded by more chairs. A single figure, a human male, sat the table with his head held in his hands, swearing softly under his breath and appearing to not have noticed their entrance.

"Uh..Lord Trollbane?" Sal said quietly, surprised at how meek her own voice sounded.

"Lord? Who calls me Lord?" the man snorted, looking up and fixing them with an exasperated glare. "Who are you?"

"My name is Saliea Silvermist, sir," she went on. "We bring dire news from beyond the portal."

"Great, like I need any more of it," Trollbane growled. He gestured at the chairs clustered around them. "Sit a moment, tell me what you will. Can't make my day any worse."

Sal jumped when Tebrion abruptly shoved a chair under her, winking down at his sister as he led Meraka to a chair as far away from the human commander as possible. Mikael hooked his foot under a chair and plopped into it, rubbing at his chest with a sniff. Sevei opted to remain standing, simply clasping his hands behind his back and standing to Saliea's left.

Trollbane raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Well," Saliea started slowly, taking a deep breath then recounting everything starting from her flight from the caverns, leading up to their mad dash through the portal. When she had finished, Trollbane's head was in his hands once more and he sighed heavily into the silence that fell in the room.

"Are you certain this is not the work of the Legion?" he asked finally.

Mikael leaned forward, clearing his throat. "It could be a minor demon, a remnant of the Legion, yes...but I get the..." he trailed off, a dark look passing briefly over his face. "I get the feeling this one has been around for some time. There were more than words within that gemstone, there were...presences, almost like imprinted essences. There were feelings of the Legion, yes, but there was...more to it, than that. Unfortunately, I can't be certain."

The other human nodded, then shook his head. "Then we'll for now assume we are indeed dealing with the Legion." He leaned back in his chair, face tilted to the ceiling as though beseeching some unseen deity. "This is troublesome indeed...have you any idea where these...demonic rituals could be taking place?"

"I've...I tried locating any substantial demonic source, during my flight here," Mikael said quietly, shaking his head. "There are two possibilities - either the landscape itself is so tainted that it masks everything, or whomever it is controlling the demons has already learned of Dathuuk's demise and is shielding their activities now. I couldn't locate a thing," he growled.

Nodding silently, Trollbane stood and began to pace. "Troublesome indeed..." he mused. For several long moments, only the commander's thudding steps sounded in the room. Finally, he stopped and clicked his boots together, spinning to face them. "Have you rested, or eaten recently?"

"Uh...not so much, no," Tebrion spoke up from the back of the room, where he sat with Meraka.

"Then I ask you return to the inn and rest, eat something, do whatever." When he saw Sevei twitch, as through the draenei was about to protest, he silenced the male with a glare. "I will contact my scouts, see if anything out of the ordinary demonic activity has occurred. If you have no idea where to begin your search, then there is little reason to rush off. With hope, one of my scouts will have noticed something and give us a starting point - the Hellfire region is a large, and dangerous, region to wander aimlessly. For the time being, I ask you rest."

Mikael stood, nodding. "Being rested would serve us well, actually." The warlock glanced down at Sal, then over at Sevei. "We might as well wait for scout reports. The commander has a point."

"Uh, Lord Trollbane?" Sal said then, standing and pushing her chair beneath a nearby desk. When he silently looked at her, she swallowed and smiled briefly. "Would it be possible...to send ahead messengers, to warn the proper authorities in Zangarmarsh and Nagrand?"

Trollbane nodded choppily. "I will send someone to Telredor and Telaar...and to the Cenarion druids as well," he added. He stepped down to them, motioning them ahead of him. "Come, to the inn. I could do with a bit of dinner and some fresh air - well, as fresh as one can get in this hell."

Trollbane gave Meraka a curious glance as he passed by her, causing the orc to squirm further back into the cloak she wore; the human either didn't notice or didn't care, for he continued on by, forcing the others to hurry to keep up with him. As they were about to exit the keep, they met the high elf coming.

"Ah, Arator," Trollbane greeted him, smiling faintly. "We are on our way to eat, would you join us?"

"I was just at the inn, but I will join to be sociable," the elf replied, his voice surprisingly soft.

Tebrion was peering at him closely. "...you are not merely high elf, but half elf, aren't you?"

Arator simply smiled and nodded, turning with them and striding at Trollbane's side; they were passing a large stone set in the courtyard of Honor Hold, something Saliea hadn't given any thought to previously. To all appearances, it looked to be a memorial; she slowed as she stared at it – it was covered in writing, and as she peered she saw the writing was actually a list of names. Trollbane quietly stopped, turning to eye her.

"Many who come here have fallen," he said quietly. "Yet we fight on."

They reached the inn door and Trollbane waved them on.

"Go ahead, I will leave word with Isildor to ask about anything -"

The commander's words were cut off with a terrified shout from somewhere on the other side of the hold

"INFERNALS!"

Trollbane shoved Mikael and the rest ahead of him. "Inside, quickly! Move!"

They scurried in just as the demons began to rain from the sky; Isildor and the guards he had been lecturing crowded in the door behind them as the inn began to shake and tremble; green rocks rained from the sky and battered the already crumbling walls, and anything else that was left uncovered and unprotected in the courtyard.

Sevei could see beyond the throng of humans, being that he was taller than they, and he scowled as he watched the acid-green flaming meteors strike the ground and gouge out smoking craters - no actual infernals rose from the pits thankfully, but Honor Hold still took a beating all the same. Chunks fell out of the walls, the keep looked blackened and scorched in areas, and from the shouts coming from others sheltering where they could outside, the mage tower in the hold had taken considerable damage in this attack.

The shaman's hands flexed restlessly; seeing the demon rain, and the fact that here the very earth cried out to him, he longed to take his weapons and go out and strike down the demonic forces that so threatened his home. He jumped when he felt something slight and soft slip into his right hand; glancing down, he saw the slim elven hand in his own, and looked over to see Saliea looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face. Feeling heat tinge his features, Sevei gently squeezed her hand, fully expecting her to remove it from his...but she didn't. They stood at the back of their crowd of companions, grasping one another's hands, the outside suddenly forgotten as they eyed each other. Sevei felt his tension fade, and gently returned the pressure on his fingers – calm was needed...this demon infestation of his homeworld was nothing new to him, and to allow it to cloud his judgment with anger and pain would only serve to help the demons win in their attempt to destroy the draenei and all life, everywhere; Sal shyly looked back out the door just as the infernal rain ended, and he wondered if she knew the immediate sense of peace she'd brought him with her small gesture.

An all-clear sign spurred the guards pressed around them into action, and they cautiously stepped outside to ensure that no demons had risen unseen from the craters that dotted the courtyard. Reluctantly, Sal pulled her hand from the draenei's, surprised at her bold action but inwardly still feeling quite excited that the shaman had not pulled away from her touch. Feeling self-conscious, she looked out as the guards began shoveling dirt into the holes and checking for other damages that may have been caused to the crumbling hold.

Arator, standing in their midst, cleared his throat. "Shall we?"

Trollbane urged them all further into the inn, pausing a moment to speak in low tones to Isildor, no doubt telling the man of his orders for the scouts and for messengers to be sent out. That task done, he gestured them to seat themselves, calling for the innkeeper.

"Yes sir?" the innkeeper, a human male, asked, wiping his hands dry on a spotted towel.

"Sid, bring dinner and -"

"Bloody infernals, absolutely ridiculous putting up with this utter horsesh- Trollbane?"

In surprise, they looked up to see a disgruntled man clad in purple from head to toe - including a slightly rumpled, pointed wizard's hat, marking him as perhaps a mage - stop in surprise in the doorway.

"Filinthus," Trollbane said, nodding to him. "Would you like to join us?"

"I'll pass," the mage said sourly. "Sid, send ale to my room!" he snapped, turning on his heel and leaving.

Muttering, the innkeeper nodded to Trollbane and hurried off to the back room, pausing only to pat the shoulder of a weeping human - a priest by the looks of his rumpled, but splendid robes - who sat alone at the bar.

"...charming fellow," Mikael said finally, still staring at the place where the mage had first appeared.

"He has his uses," Trollbane sighed. "He is two parts raw power, one part bluster and grump."

Sevei slid into the chair at Sal's left, flashing her a brief smile that made her feel slightly lightheaded; Meraka uneasily slid into the chair at the far end, away from Trollbane, and blanched when Arator seated himself near her. Tebrion coughed, then sent the orc a helpless look and sat on the other side of the half elf, biting his lower lip.

"Who is your friend here?" Trollbane asked, catching the look on Tebrion's face and looking once more at Meraka.

"A...dear friend of ours, a very staunch ally as well," Sal said, her stomach sinking as visions of their reactions flashed through her mind. Mikael, having been about to drop into an empty seat on Sal's right, abruptly changed his mind and instead sat in the only remaining empty chair to Meraka's left.

"A _very _dear friend," Mikael said, nodding.

Arator bent low to peer into the hood that covered Meraka's face; Meraka leaned from him, but his face twisted into a look of utter surprise and he reached up, seizing the front of her hood and pushing it back, revealing the orc fully to the room.

Trollbane's eyes narrowed and Sal leapt to her feet, looking from the commander to Meraka and back; Meraka looked incredibly uneasy, allowing Mikael to pull her to her feet and shove her behind him. Trollbane and Arator both wore looks of utter surprise, but both haven't moved.

"I...you...that's..."

"An orc, yes," Sal said cautiously. "She is our friend."

"You brought an ORC? HERE?" Trollbane said, voice sounding strained. "Are you insane? You've brought an orc into my keep when we're as hard-pressed to defend ourselves against the demons are we are her own Lights-damned kind!"

"I h-have accompanied them, to better understand this demonic threat and report fully to my Warchief," Meraka stammered, peering over Mikael's shoulder. "I mean you no harm, I am merely interested in and determined to end this demonic threat discovered so close to my homeland. Our goals are the same, Commander – I wish to see this threat stopped. This concerns more than Horde and Alliance alone, this concerns everyone."

Trollbane leaned back in his chair, shaking his head, his eyes wide. "This day just keeps getting better and better..." Steepling his fingers before his face, he simply shook his head. "Out here, the tensions between Horde and Alliance are not so pronounced - we each would be dead were it not for the other. The fel orcs press all of us, and hard. But no sooner do we defeat a threat together, then see the Horde is ready to put a dagger in our backs. An orc will never be welcome here, not by me and not by my men."

Sal slapped her hands on the table, leaning over Sevei to look directly at the human. "Meraka is traveling with us, under our protection. She is my good friend, and I would be most angry if anything bad happened to her, simply because of her race."

He shot her a withering look. "Are you threatening me, druid?"

"If I must," she replied quietly. "You were perfectly fine when you assumed she was a human. What difference does it make now? We have far more things to worry about, and Meraka will have us to deal with should she actually turn out to be some sort of spy or threat – I have met the Warchief of the Horde, Commander. She was chosen to accompany us by him, not because of espionage, but because of her skill and intelligence. She means no one any harm unless they harm her first." She looked to the orc mage and Meraka nodded in agreement. "You have nothing to fear."

Trollbane growled, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyesockets, and was silent for a long moment. "I watched a great deal of my men die to orcs time and again...I will be frank. I do not like her kind. Orcs deserve nothing, not on this world and not on Azeroth, not after the damage they have done. I will permit her presence, but only if she is never out of your company or sight. Should she be found by herself, for any reason, she will be executed. Am I clear?"

"I understand, and I assure you I am here solely to stop a threat, not become one myself," Meraka said, her voice quiet but firm.

Trollbane looked over a shoulder. "Sid."

The bartender jumped, seemingly snapped out of his shocked stupor by the commander's sudden attention on him. "Uh, yes?"

"Bring me something strong...I feel the sudden need to get drunk."

The other chuckled weakly, looking up at Meraka again and merely shaking his head. He made no immediate move to bring the ordered drink – he knew Trollbane did not, in fact, intend to drink until inebriated, it would be suicide to inhibit one's judgment and reaction time in such a harsh environment.

With a final look at Meraka, Arator motioned for them all to seat themselves once more; Meraka had to nearly be shoved back into a chair by Mikael, who remained sitting by her, close at hand should anyone attempt to harm the orc.

Meraka sighed, staring at her hands resting on the table. "I am well aware the general reception of orcs by Alliance races. I will submit to further sanctions if it shall really be that much of a problem."

Trollbane, his head still in his hands, simply shrugged. "Just attack no one unless attacked first, and do not harm with intent to kill. Try not to leave a mess. What are you? What sort of occupation do you hold?"

"M-mage."

Now the human looked up in surprise. "Mage? I wasn't aware orcs dabbled in the arcane."

"They don't," she replied quietly. "I wasn't raised with my people, but by a human mage." She smiled at their looks of surprise. "I started my life as a servant and slave, taken from my family and left to grow up bowing to the orders of others. My "father" was the man who took me from my home, and he was civil to me, even kind, as I grew up in his household. He was the first human to ever show me kindness, and when I showed an interest in the arcane magics he wielded, he took it upon himself to teach me. His kindness and willingness to look beyond racial tensions and hatred made quite an impression on me. I have not and will never forget that, or him. I was a daughter to him, not a slave."

She surveyed the table, looking at each of them in turn, then a wry grin twisted her features as she looked at the druid. "I'm sorry to inform you that I already knew Common before you endeavored to teach me."

Sal smiled back, shaking her head. "I wondered how you seemed to be ahead of the others in terms of vocabulary."

With a snort and a smile, Meraka shrugged. "My father, my master, taught me well. I know Common, I know of Stormwind – I lived for some time there, forbidden to leave the home but able to peer out windows at the goings on of the world outside. I know of the arcane. I have seen both factions from the inside, and harbor no resentment toward either. My immediate loyalty may be to the Warchief of the Horde, but I know there are bigger things in the world that threaten us all. Azeroth is my home and anything that could threaten that home should be confronted and defeated, and I don't care what faction lines I have to step on to accomplish that goal."

Trollbane was looking at her now in what could only be grudging respect. "An inspiring tale."

Meraka glanced at the table before her, running a gloved finger along the woodgrain. "Hardly, but thank you." She drummed her fingers on the table. "My similar childhood brings me trust from Thrall, more than most others receive. And since I lived among humans for the better part of my life, I know what both sides are capable of in terms of prejudice and blind hatred. You need not worry about me, Commander. My goals have nothing to do with harming your men."

Sid returned then with their meals - thus sparing Meraka further embarrassment - stumbling a bit on the floor when he caught himself staring at Meraka. His final questioning glance to Trollbane was met with only a helpless shrug, and so the innkeeper silently went about his duties - if Trollbane was not concerned, he shouldn't be concerned either.

They ate in near-silence, Trollbane anxiously glancing up to the doorway every so often; what he was waiting on wasn't apparent - he could have been watching for returning scouts, or watching for entering soldiers who might grow angry at the sight of their "guest." Finally, Isildor himself strode through the door, scouting reports clutched in one hand. Wordlessly, though he stared with an expression of anger and mistrust at Meraka, he handed them over to Trollbane, who pulled them open and began reading in earnest.

There were three reports, three scrolls, and the human finished with them quickly; he grimly looked up at those gathered.

"Nothing unusual," he said flatly. "I'm afraid I can give you no starting point for your search."

"Damn," Tebrion muttered, pushing himself to his feet and looking around at them all. "What now?"

"The Horde...they have an outpost somewhere near here, yes?" Meraka asked timidly, pointedly ignoring the look Isildor still had leveled at her.

Trollbane nodded. "They do. It's across the main "road" leading from Hellfire Citadel. I could show you where on a map, though if you just north from here you'll walk right into it."

The orc nodded to Saliea. "Perhaps I should inquire there, they may have something."

"I don't see how that would hurt," Trollbane agreed. "If you indeed find out anything, please send word back. I don't have much resources to spare, but I will help in any way that I can."

Isildor began to finally stammer out something, eyes going from Trollbane to Meraka and back again, when a loud bang from outside shook the entire inn.

"What was that?" Mikael asked, shaking spilled mead from his hands.

"I don't -" Trollbane started, abruptly interrupted as a stronger explosion from outside actually half-threw the commander from his chair. He shoved himself to his feet, rushing for the door with Arator and Isildor stumbling after him. Moments later, Sal leapt to her feet and followed, the rest of them behind her.

The courtyard was empty, the soldiers having taken cover wherever they could find it. A stone archway, a road out of the keep, was shattered into smoking ruin; a single soldier dug at the stone, no doubt seeking a companion caught under the wreckage.

"What happened?" Sevei asked, waving a hand in the direction of the stone. Some of it shifted, and now a limp hand came into the view of the digging soldier, who began digging more frantically. Sevei gestured again and the rest of the debris fell away from the trapped soldier - a dwarf by the looks of him, hardly even bloodied, so likely to survive his being crushed by a large amount of rock.

Isildor looked about, seeing a few men and women all taking cover where they could, and all staring out that shattered archway. "You there! What did this?"

"Oh, I did."

Eyes wide, they all looked up into the air to see the owner of the mocking voice. A humanoid, vaguely troll-like in appearance, floated in the air above them on huge black bat wings. He was naked, but had no gender organs of any sort, and his body was covered in dark brown chitin that looked greasy, oily, in the dim light of Hellfire Peninsula. He chuckled at them, raising a hand and casually conjuring a fireball that he began to juggle back and forth between his hands.

"Man-made structures are good for but one thing - blowing up. Now, enough with my fun, time for business."

The demon - for it could only be a demon - tossed the fireball at them and they scattered. With a gargling hiss, the demon spat a milky white substance from his mouth; it spread out in a spray heading directly for Trollbane and Isildor. Arator grabbed them both and yanked them aside as it came barreling in. It clipped the elf's shoulder and slammed him back against the outer wall of the inn; Arator growled as the substance solidified into a webbing of some sort, gluing him in place.

Sevei leapt forward, grabbing at the web and pulling; it wasn't budging, so he pulled an ax and readied to swing at it when Arator kicked him aside at the sound of another hiss. Sevei stumbled backwards, narrowly being missed by another webbing projectile that hit and completely encased the trapped half elf. The webbing struggled briefly, then the half elf within went still.

Isildor was shouting, organizing offense against the flying demon; Trollbane's hand was reaching for the weapons at his belt, delayed as he was forced to dive to the side to avoid another volley of web.

Mikael and Meraka were hurling magical devastation up at the demon, but the winged monster was especially nimble in the air and dodged their attacks with ease. Finally, Mikael snarled as he formed a curse between his hands, then cast it; the demon couldn't hope to dodge a curse, and when the glowing sigils of the spell appeared on his bare chest he actually looked surprised.

"A warlock then? How cute," he chuckled, wiping away the curse with hardly a thought. "How absolutely adorable, you mortal races thinking you can master magics older than your race itself. Enough playtime."

He barked out a spell; Sevei had once again been trying to cut Arator free from the wall, aided by Saliea and two other soldiers, but the spell the demon had cast covered seemingly everyone in an eerie purple light.

"Wait for it," the demon chuckled, moments before his spell fully went off.

Everyone trapped in the light rose off the ground several inches, then were flung like ragdolls to all corners of the keep. Trollbane himself was slammed face-first into the stone in the middle of the courtyard; he shook his head, dazed, even as the demon bore down on him. At point-blank range, a single shot of webbing trapped the commander fully.

With another gleeful chuckle, the demon plucked the helpless commander off the ground and tucked him under an arm, then strode to Arator and pulled him off the wall, pausing only to wrap the webbing completely around the half elf before tucking him too under his other arm.

"It's been fun, children," the bat-winged demon laughed, waving jauntily at the soldiers and Isildor who rushed at him. He blew a kiss to Isildor, who stiffened and fell to the ground, eyes wide and mouth gasping for air. With a whoosh, the demon leapt skyward, flapping his wings until he was far above the keep, the air rushing from his departure flinging the soldiers to the ground once more.

"Come on out to play, children...if you can." His last words echoed around the keep.

Tebrion, having disentangled himself from the pile of soldiers he'd landed in, was kneeling at Isildor's side, attempting to unravel the magic that plagued the man. Finally, Isildor sucked in a ragged gasp of air, nodding gratefully to the elf moments before trying to sit up.

"Rest a moment, sir," Tebrion said smoothly, shoving the man flat again.

"Trollbane...Arator..." the other stammered, trying to sit up again.

"We shall find them, make no mistake about that," Mikael snarled, limping up to them. He had been thrown the furthest, nearly all the way back into the doorway of Trollbane's keep; he favored his left leg, and didn't argue when Tebrion flicked a hand in his direction, directing holy magics there to heal whatever ailed the limb.

Meraka had her hood up over her head again, rising from behind the pile of broken stone from the archway, one hand raised and pointed out of the keep. "I cannot sense the demon, but I can track Arator by his presence," she said after a moment. "We need to hurry before they get too far away."

All around them, soldiers were picking themselves up and milling around Isildor, awaiting orders, and so no one noticed that Sevei stood over a prone Saliea, far off in the corner where the wall surrounding Honor Hold had long ago been blasted apart.

The druid lay unconscious among the stone, a small gash and a bruise decorating her face and the obvious reason of why she was out cold. Sevei bent to check her, seeing her pulse and her breathing were still strong, and despite the urgency of the situation he couldn't help but just look at her a moment; inwardly he was enraged at the demon who had not only injured a soldier and then kidnapped Arator and Trollbane, but...more than anything, he was angered by Saliea's injury. Glancing around and seeing no one paid any attention to the lone draenei, Sevei knelt and lightly brushed a stray strand of hair out of the way, then bent and gently kissed her forehead. The healing spell he had prepared departed his lips and targeted the bump on the druid's head; seconds later, Sal's eyes fluttered open.

"Ow..." she groaned, wincing as she allowed Sevei to help her into a sitting position.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly, hand resting on her shoulder.

"I'm just bruised, I think...what happened?" she asked, hand raising to where until moments ago a nasty bruise had been.

Sevei shook his head. "The demon took Trollbane and Arator. Meraka thinks she can track Arator so long as they aren't too far away."

"Then we must hurry," the druid said, grimacing as she pushed herself to her feet, Sevei rising with her. As they hurried to join the others, Sal was using tiny bursts of healing magic to ease away bruises and scrapes caused by her landing amongst the broken stones; she noticed that Sevei was having a hard time looking at her for longer than a brief glance, and wondered what had him so twitchy – she could tell that she was not injured badly, but perhaps she looked more battered than she felt. She sighed and pushed back a stray strand of hair from her face - the very same hair Sevei himself had moved, though she didn't know that.

Isildor was arranging the soldiers to take up watch positions around the keep while gesturing for the stablehands to bring out mounts.

Mikael refused the reins offered to him, once more summoning that fearsome-looking horse he had been riding when he'd rejoined them at the portal; Tebrion once again tugged Meraka up onto the horse in front of him. The orc had grasped the basics of riding, but now she needed to concentrate fully on maintaining the spell that was allowing her to keep track of Arator and so she would be unable to control the animal over the unfamiliar ground.

Sal frowned when she saw Isildor had had a mount brought out for himself along with the ones meant for their group. "Marshal, you should stay here."

"I am coming with you," he growled, adjusting the saddle on his horse.

Tebrion nudged his mount over, forcing Isildor away from the animal. "Someone must remain here in command, in case that thing returns."

"But-"

"Stay here," Sal said firmly. When he made to protest again, Sal glared openly. "I honestly do not think Commander Trollbane would be appreciative if all his officers left the Hold undefended. We will find him."

Isildor's eyes narrowed. "If you are not back by the time the sun sets, I will be sending men after you, even if they must scour the entire region!"

Sal swung up onto her horse and directed it to follow Mikael, the warlock being the first out of the keep, directing his demonic horse to leap the fallen archway and head directly northward.

Meraka's hood had fallen from her head, revealing the blank look on the mage's face as she channeled her magics. Her left hand was held before her, like a divining rod to show the way; suddenly, she abruptly pointed southwest.

"He's moved, like he teleported," she said in a monotone, eyes staring straight ahead even as her hand moved. "Must have been an attempt to mislead us..."

Mikael changed course, the others right behind him. They raced over the dead land, felboars and sickly-looking vulture creatures, as well as hulking reptilian beasts Sevei called Stonescythes, eying them with animosity but unable to catch up to the racing mounts. They slowed their pace only to sneak passed an outpost full of red-skinned brutish orcs, slipping beyond them and through a gap in what must have once been a grand wall stretching the length of the land. They skirted a fissure full of more of the stonescythe creatures, then came to a valley full of birdmen.

"Arakoa," Sevei whispered, halting their charge. The horses panted beneath them as the shaman bit his lower lip, eyes raking the single path that led down into the realm of the avian creatures; as they watched, he murmured something and his eyes glowed a soft orange. Again, he swept his gaze over the valley, noting that none of the arakoa seemed to be about except in the extreme depths of their territory.

"Come," he said quietly, dismissing the spell, his eyes fading back to the gentle blue glow they always were. "We must sneak passed. Arakoa are nasty things, we don't want to draw their ire."

Tebrion nudged Meraka carefully. "Any change?"

The orc merely shook her head, eyes still staring at seemingly nothing.

They dismounted and led their mounts beyond the yawning opening into the valley that belonged to the arakoa; beyond that opening was an expanse of tall mountains, and now the land began to sprout stunted, twisted vines full of thorns nearly as long as Saliea was tall.

They turned expectantly to the orc, and watched as slowly her hand rose, pointing up a steep peak nearby, where a crown of the thorny vines blotted out a large expanse of the sky.

"...up there?" Mikael asked, nose wrinkling as he eyed the angle of the incline.

"Up there," Meraka confirmed, blinking several times as she broke the channeling of her spell and turned to look at them fully. "It hasn't moved since that first time."

"You are certain?" Sevei asked, and when she nodded he turned to gaze up the peak himself. "Then we will need to find a way up there." His eyes grew unfocused as he reached out to cautiously touch the elemental spirits of the land.

They at first railed against his presence, his touch; the shaman's mind swam as they retaliated, even as he in turn attempted to calm them. The earth wasn't interested in hearing him, and Sevei had to retreat, removing his mind from the ground and instead reaching out to the wind. The air too didn't seem pleased at his intrusion - it felt dazed, confused to the shaman, like the wind itself didn't know nor care which way it blew. Finally, piercing the haze that clouded the spirits Sevei requested their assistance in finding a suitable path up the peak. With the barest hint of hesitation, the air relented and a gentle breeze picked up.

Sevei returned to himself to feel a soft touch upon his face - he was surprised to see that it was Saliea wiping blood from his upper lip. Apparently the lashing out from the earth spirit had indeed done a little damage in the form of a bloody nose. He smiled sheepishly at her, taking the cloth scrap from her and dabbing at the blood himself.

"What were you doing?" she asked, placing a single finger on the bridge of his nose and willing healing magic from it to him.

"Asking for help," he replied, nodding into the breeze. "We have more than just our eyes seeking a way up now."

Tebrion had dropped Meraka nearby, the mage hovering uncomfortably near the side of Mikael's dreadsteed; the priest was deftly guiding his horse over the uneven ground, eyes crossing the land in his attempt to spy a path up the mountainside to the demon above and his two captives. The wind blew at the priest's back, and as the wind discovered the path up so did the priest, pointing it out even as Sevei felt the urging of the wind to follow it.

The path was little more than a rocky channel running up the mountainside, like a small stream of water had once rushed down the peak. There was no place to tether their horses unfortunately, nor did they possess rope to hobble them.

"One moment," Sal said, thinking rapidly. She herself reached into the earth around them, not touching the spirits but the actual physical nature of the land itself. Down deep, very deep, she felt the dormant life of plants, long since fallen asleep after the destruction that had ripped the land apart, but the life itself was still there. At her urging it awakened, shoving tendrils up through the parched soil to reach for the darkened sky above. Everyone but the shaman and the druid stepped back in surprise as the first of the vines Saliea had called broke the surface, then curled up into a stunted bush-like gathering of the same thorny plantlife that crowned the nearby peak.

Sal silently tied their horses to the growth, then turned and eyed the pathway leading up. "Well...come then," she said quietly, beginning to climb.


	12. Chapter 12

Once more he was alone, curled into a ball in the floor of his dreary quarters. The air was unnaturally cold, and as he shivered he found himself thanking the world even for this sort of sensation – it was rare for things to penetrate to his core when he wasn't alone, and even freezing in the floor was preferable to the alternative of feeling nothing at all.

...well. Of feeling nothing physical, at the least. Not unless he was ordered to, and that was also rare. The mental and emotional sensations he knew all too well, and he hated them.

He heard the creak of a door, someone intruding on his prison, but the creaking was then followed by the sound of tiny feet pattering over the bare floor.

* * *

Stroking his beard, the man paced, his steps echoing in the huge stone cavern he stood in, with the only other sound being his robes swishing about his legs as he walked, and the tap of his staff upon the stone floor. He'd received word that the gateway ritual was set in place, and the decoy secured. The little party of adventurers was well on their way to stop the ritual, as he intended...he only hoped nothing of the "natural" world of the Outland interfered, much like how the saturation of demonic energy made scrying to keep an eye on the group impossible.

Win or lose, it really didn't matter, so long as the group was tested in some way. His allies on the demonic plane had their orders, and once that gateway was open there would be little anyone could do to keep him from opening the rest, if the group failed. Failure was, ironically, something he hoped against. He needed the little druid and her group to ultimately win, but it had to be a hard-bought win, something barely snatched from the jaws of defeat...but, his underlings could not know this was their master's actual intent. No, no...reasons within mystery within deflection, that was his task.

"...Donnovan," he called finally.

With a burst of displaced air, the night elf appeared behind him.

"You bellowed, sir?"

"Cease the attitude," the man said coolly, turning.

Out of habit, his eyes swept the entirety of the cavern; his followers, a mixed group of Horde and Alliance races, all went about their dark deeds in various places in the expansive cave. In fact, the man's entire headquarters, as it were, were all underground; there was no way in to the complex unless you possessed one of the mirrors Donnovan carried, or the man brought you in himself. It was a security measure the man took comfort in - no one entered or left without the permission of him. No traitors to his true machinations could get in or out...a good measure.

Above them the ceiling disappeared into darkness, the light of hundreds of enchanted torches mounted on the walls being unable to pierce the black high above. He had heard it whispered that perhaps there was no ceiling, that they sat at the bottom of a pocket within the Twisting Nether itself; the man allowed his followers their whispers - fearful acolytes always performed better when they believed their lives were constantly in danger. He alone knew the truth of where this cavern had come from. It had taken a great deal of effort to clear out the previous inhabitants...but it was worth it.

Coming back to the here and now, he fixed his gaze on the night elf. Donnovan was not wearing his armor, instead clad in pants and shirt made of the same soft gray cloth, his pants tucked into the tops of black leather boots. He briefly considered ordering the elf to disrobe, then decided against it; things more important than his own personal pleasure were ongoing, and he needed a pair of eyes in Outland.

"I want for you to travel to Hellfire Peninsula. Be my eyes. Watch closely, and if need be help ensure that those...heroes...do as intended. And if they do not, you know what must be done."

Donnovan flinched, knowing that he had essentially just been ordered to slay the adventurers if the opportunity arose. Once more he cursed the man, and cursed himself and his life - how much more blood would he spill on the whim of this man?

"You have your orders, you are dismissed," the man said.

Donnovan wondered if he had been speaking, then wondered why he cared; all that mattered, truly, was that the man had ordered him to once more slay innocents. How many more stains his soul could endure was a question he asked himself every day upon waking.

With a heavy sigh, he went to collect his armor, and do the bidding of his master.

* * *

Fingers inching slowly over the lip of the ledge just above him, Mikael carefully eased himself up to peer over the rock.

The vines, he saw, formed a great cage high above them; twisting over and in and through itself, it formed a dome stretching from the upraised rocks, casting the area below it into broken shadow. He could not see far, for a hilly protrusion of earth and rock was only a few meters in front of him; the warlock could see no sign of Trollbane or Arator, or of the demon that had kidnapped them.

He craned his neck, looking down below him where the others carefully crouched on a ledge, pressed tightly against the wall and awaiting word from Mikael.

"I see nothing," he said, explaining about the hill. "Our only choice is to go up, and do it quietly. We'll have some cover thanks to that hill - if we can't see them, the odds are good that they in turn cannot see us."

"Allow me to go up first," Sal said firmly, eyes narrowing as she carefully edged aside to give Mikael room to lower himself back down. When all three males began to protest, she held up a single hand.

"Tebrion, you of all people should know how stealthy I can be. I would be the best choice to look further," she said, eying her brother.

The priest's face darkened, but he swallowed and nodded. "It's true. If she doesn't want to be found, you'd have a hard time finding her."

"I don't like this idea-" Mikael began, shaking his head. A look from both Meraka and Sevei stopped him.

"I do not care for it either," Sevei said quietly, glancing at the druid then quickly up to the ledge above. "But...if she believes she would be best, then let her go."

She smiled at him, thankful for his support, then went to clamber up the same way Mikael had. Sevei offered her a hand up, as he had offered the human assistance in reaching the hand holds above them and then helped lever herself up by allowing her to step on his upraised hands, watching her with a faint frown until her feet disappeared from sight over the edge.

"Wait for my signal," came her whispered order, and then there was nothing.

Laying flat on her stomach, Saliea allowed herself to shift forms, growing into her dark-furred cat form and then silently padding into the shadows cast by the thorns, all but disappearing from sight.

The hill was mostly rock and she avoided it - she didn't need anything shifting beneath her weight and alerting the demon to her presence, if he didn't already know she was here - and so it took some time to find a path around. Moments later she was crouched off to the side, eying what she had come seeking.

Arator and Trollbane, both still cocooned in the webbing, hung from the exact center of the thorny dome, their feet dangling eight feet off the ground. The winged troll-like demon stalked around beneath them, occasionally reaching up to lazily bat at the two captives, causing them to swing and spin. Arator's head was slumped forward, chin on his chest and his eyes shut - out cold. Trollbane was aware but remaining silent, glaring at the demon but not rising to the bait when the beast poked or prodded at him.

Sal watched intently; the demon was making a mistake in that he did not deviate from his pattern. Step, step, step, turn and spin the captives, step, step, step, pause and stretch his wings wide. After observing for several minutes, seeing no change, Sal pressed herself deeper into the shadows, a plan forming in her mind.

* * *

"Wait for her signal...what signal?" Mikael asked grumpily, tapping his foot rapidly and constantly glancing back up the ledge in the hopes to see Sal looking down at them.

"I - " Meraka started, when an ear-splitting roar echoed through the air.

"I think that was our signal," Tebrion said, face paling.

Mikael jumped up to seize a handhold, then snarled when Meraka roughly yanked him back down.

"What are you doing?" he asked angrily, shrugging her hand off.

Meraka ignored him, chanting as she reached into one of her pouches and pulled out a handful of glittering dust. She cast it into the air above them all, showering everyone with the powder, then clapped her hands and thrust them skyward.

"Up!" she commanded. Together, to the surprise of the males, the four of them immediately floated rapidly into the air, clearing the ledge, the hill, and settling down gently on the ground beyond.

Before their eyes they could see Trollbane and Arator, and below that was a flailing demon with an angry druid clinging to his back just between his wing joints.

The demon's own wings kept him from reaching around and ripping Sal free, but his frenzied movements were slowly shaking her loose; the elf had her jaws locked tightly on his left shoulder, her front paws digging deep into his shoulders while her hind paws raked mercilessly down its back and sides.

As one they charged forward, the creature dislodging the elf and sending her sliding across the ground, paws scrabbling on the dirt as she tried turning and leaping at him. Solid rock met her paws and acted as a springboard for the druid; she launched herself at the demon again, jaws gaping wide and full of intent to harm. The demon had a faint look of surprise on his hideous features, but was recovering quickly. A rattling intake of breath warned Sal to the impending attack and she twisted in midair, bounding off to the side as a wide spray of sticky webbing soared through the space she had occupied only moments before.

Sevei had begun moving even before Meraka had set them on the ground; with a guttural growl the draenei drew his axes and clanged them together, eyes flashing as brilliant flame sprang to life around the weapons seconds before he charged. The demon was facing Sal, Sevei and the others on his right; the shaman rushed forward, axes swinging. He scored only a minor hit as the beast seemed to sense him coming and twisted away from the hungry bite of the blades, receiving a shallow cut down his forearm. In retaliation he swept a wing out wide, forcing Sevei to duck low to avoid being struck, but even as the draenei dropped to a knee a roaring fireball soared over his head and tore into the sweeping wing.

With a pain-filled grunt the demon leapt into the air, extinguishing the flames licking at his wing with a frantic flick of the appendage.

"Little children should learn to behave," he snarled, dropping to the ground with a resounding thud.

He side-stepped a shadowy bolt flung at him by Mikael then, moving faster than anyone could track, lunged at Sevei and swung a closed fist at the male. To the shaman, it felt like a bag full of bricks had slammed into him; he flew backwards, hitting the ground and rolling a few feet before coming to a stop awkwardly on his side, seeing stars and gasping for breath.

He hadn't even seen the blow coming...he would need to be faster.

As he pushed himself up to his feet, Sevei could hear the angered shout of the creature, and saw that once more Saliea had attached herself to him and was tearing at the chitinous flesh, sending flecks of blood and skin everywhere. With a brief wave of his hand, Sevei summoned into existence a brilliant blue totem, and immediately felt as though he were lighter, quicker, the power of air surging through him. He set his feet, gripped his axes and charged at the distracted demon again.

Meraka and Mikael paused in their spellcastings, not certain of their aim now that two of their friends were incredibly close to the demon. Mikael growled in frustration and drew his sword, eying the red-glowing blade a brief second before turning and rushing at the demon himself. Meraka bit her lower lip, knowing she was quite useless, that she couldn't be of any true aid, until they cleared away and gave her a clear shot to the beast - she wouldn't dare use any powerful spells with her allies in the line of fire, and her minor ones wouldn't even leave a mark on the powerful creature.

Stopping herself before she drew blood, the orc clenched her fists. There had to be SOMETHING she could do...

She found herself looking up at Trollbane and Arator, trapped, the human commander watching the combat below in a mix of excitement and dread. An idea sparked in her mind; she pulled the dust from her pouch again, only a bare pinch, and cast her levitation spell again. She leapt and aimed at the cocoon, hitting her mark squarely and clinging to Trollbane's shoulders to hold herself in place. The webbing beneath her body was rock-hard and slick to the touch - at least she knew she didn't have to worry about unsticking herself later.

"Are you armed?" she asked Trollbane, though she doubted she could get to any blade even if the human had one.

He shook his head sharply. "No. He unbound us briefly enough to disarm us, then hung us up here. Can you get us free?"

"I...will certainly try," she said, rapping knuckles against the webbing. "I'm not sure exactly how to get this off you without possibly harming you."

"We can handle a few scratches. Anything is better than dying at this foul beast's hands."

Meraka tugged at the top of the webbing, feeling it give just slightly as it was much thinner around the males' shoulders. "Maybe...maybe I could carefully burn it away..."

"Try whatever you like," Trollbane said hurriedly, glancing beyond her at the battle going on under them. "Just do it quickly."

Below, Sal was thrown again, this time landing on her back and tumbling with the demon stomping right after her. Sevei was forgotten, the demon not even seeming to notice the draenei chipping away at his waist as he stalked toward the prone druid. Sal rolled to all four feet, crouching and snarling, ignoring the pounding ache that now ran up and down her spine. A brief golden light flashed in her eyes, and immediately the pounding ceased; she could make out the figure of her brother, standing far enough away to try and avoid drawing the demon's immediate attention, but close enough to help heal their hurts.

He had, unfortunately, drawn the demon's attention.

Sevei suffered a punishing kick to the gut as the demon turned, shoving with a wing to toss the draenei off-balance, then kicking out and blasting the shaman aside. Sevei hit the ground, curling around his stomach, eyes and mouth wide; Saliea winced, could almost hear ribs snapping under the blow - they had to have snapped, as powerful as that hit had been. For a moment, she wanted to throw herself at his side and offer him help, but right now her brother was in immediate danger.

She stood, shifting back to elf form and throwing the most potent healing spell she could summon at such short notice upon the draenei, then leapt nimbly over him, landing on the other side four-legged and furry once more...but about eight times bigger and meaner.

Mikael too had been forced away, his enchanted sword not even able to come close enough to strike. He swore when the demon turned from him, dropped Sevei, then went for Tebrion. The warlock rushed forward, outpacing the demon and turning on him, backpedaling even as he raised his sword to parry the fist rushing at him.

The blow landed, almost knocking the sword from Mikael's hands; the sword cut deep, but Mikael could do little against the impact of sword meeting flesh. He grit his teeth against the jarring pain and slapped a hand against the demon's arm, mouth moving to cast the most powerful curse he had at his disposal. Immediately runes spread from the human's fingers and began to march up the demon's flesh, heading for his shoulder. The air was blasted from him as the demon's other arm swung up and clipped his shoulder, spinning Mikael about to land in the dirt nearly at Tebrion's feet.

The night elf grabbed the warlock's arm and dragged him aside, the demon momentarily forgetting about them as it turned its attention to the curse corrupting his flesh.

"Move move move move," Mikael chanted, now on his feet and dragging Tebrion after him, further back under the canopy of thorns.

"What was that?" Tebrion asked, glancing over his shoulder back at the demon.

"Half a curse," Mikael said grimly. "It's supposed to last longer, but I didn't get all of the incantation out...this won't be pretty."

The demon was muttering a counter-curse, waving his fingers over the runes that now covered his arm from fingertips to elbow. When it didn't dispel, a look of utter surprise came over its face. It did not see the charging bear until it had slammed into his side, knocking him to the ground. When the druid's teeth were snapping inches from his face he finally reacted, swinging his cursed arm in an open-handed slap at Sal's throat. Sal reared back, taking the blow on her upper chest.

And then the curse detonated.

The curse went off with a spectacular bang, blowing up a screen of dirt and pelting everyone with hot stone splinters. A roar of anger and pain echoed through the air, and out of the dust rose the demon, missing his arm at the elbow and looking incredibly angry.

Mikael had a frantic moment of worry over Sal, but then had to force his attention to defending himself and Tebrion as the enraged demon charged out of the destruction.

* * *

Donnovan was perched on a rock spire, watching the action through a gap in the vines he had cut. His studded leather armor - deep brown with dull black metal pieces incorporated throughout - should sufficiently camouflage him against the brown vines and black thorns. The hair on the back of his neck raised when the warlock cast his spell; Donnovan had half a mind to hide when he briefly examined the spell and sensed the oncoming explosion. He willed himself to stay put, however, and was impressed at the size of the bang, wondering just how powerful that curse would have been had the warlock cast all of it and not just a fraction of the spell.

Something dark hurtled across his line of vision, and then he had the sense of mind to duck aside, down behind the spire as something crashed into the stone several feet below where he had been sitting. Crawling back up the spire, the night elf peered down to see the sprawled form of a bear laying on a ledge below. As he watched, the body shrank down into the slim form of the druid, hair splayed over her face. She stirred a bit, then moaned, curling into a ball.

'Ensure the heroes do as they are intended to.'

His lord's voice echoed through his mind, and Donnovan felt himself compelled to end the druid's life...somewhere, his master's presence had decided she had failed. Heart sinking, knowing the price he would pay if he disobeyed, he drew his dagger and nimbly climbed down to the now-unconscious elf. He rolled her onto her back, intending to make her death quick and merciful with a single stab through the heart, but what he saw gave him pause, stole his breath.

A familiar face lay before him. He knew that face...he knew those lips and the curve of that chin. He wished she had been awake so he could gaze into her eyes. His dagger dropped from nerveless fingers, and he threw himself back from her, shock for once overriding the compulsion of the spell that bound him to his master's will.

He knew her. Oh Elune...he KNEW her.

A pain was building behind his eyes, the result of the spell detecting that he was possibly disobeying the man. Donnovan eyed the druid again, feeling the pain rise as he further hesitated; he couldn't possibly bring himself to kill this female, not until...not until he knew more. She looked so familiar, he knew he knew her, somehow.

His eyes began to water, his body tremble, and now Donnovan knew he had to do something quickly.

'Think, think! They must do as intended...but what does my master intend for them to do?' he thought, mind racing. He bent over, hands gripping both sides of his head as he fought to think clearly.

'Intent...they want to kill that thing below me...Is that what I'm supposed...why would I be ordered to aid them?'

'Wait...'

Blinking tears from his eyes, Donnovan scooped up the elf into his arms and dove over the edge, agilely hopping from outcrop to outcrop down the side of the hill until he dove through an opening in the thorns and dropped the final several yards to the ground below. His joints protested landing with the extra weight, but the pain in his knees paled in comparison to the pain rising in his head.

Gently he laid the druid upright against the base of one of the thorny plants, smoothing her hair back from her face and glancing over to where her companions did battle with the demon. They hadn't taken notice of him; he drew out his mirror, gazed one final time on the druid, then - with some difficulty - focused on his intended location and teleported away.

He appeared on the other side of Hellfire, several meters off from where he had wanted to end up but still counting himself lucky for having the focus the spell required to even get him this far.

Looming behind him was the end of the world. There, the land just stopped, threatening to dump the inattentive down into the Twisting Nether, where one could seemingly fall forever and die of starvation before they ever found the bottom, if there even was one.

Before him was a solid rock wall - or so it appeared. The night elf walked fearlessly to the wall and then through it, the surface of the rock rippling like water in a soft breeze. The illusion appeared to have kept everyone else out; this tiny cave was where Krataak, the demon the adventurers fought on top of the mountain on the other side of this blasted landscape, had set up the ritual meant to rip a gate from this realm to the demons. Donnovan strode forward, toward a pale purple light, knowing exactly what he was looking for and hoping that his idea would work.

On the ground before him now lay a glowing purple circle, with a smaller circle drawn within it and the space between the two filled with runes that glowed a sickly green. The smaller inner circle was large enough to hold a full-grown human male, though it instead had a dead fel orc staked at ankles and hands within it. The orc's blood had anointed the circle and set into motion the spell that would open the gate. Donnovan studied the circle, ignoring the dead orc and the pain in his head. He judged he had little time.

"Intent. Goals. One of their goals was to destroy this ritual, this gate," he said aloud, blinking rapidly. "I am insuring they do as intended."

With his left foot, he scuffed the rock hard and erased a single glowing rune.

* * *

At first Saliea had thought her blurry glimpse of the green-haired male was Lord Staghelm come to once again scold her on picking fights with the older boys. Already a defense was forming in her mind, and then she came to her senses and saw she was slumped against one of the vines, aching but otherwise alive.

She was going to have to have a talk with Mikael about flinging spells like that around...

Craning her neck, Sal looked down to see that her chest was burnt and under her armor it was badly bruised, but nothing felt broken and she still breathed easily. She shuddered, thinking about what the damage might have been had she taken that explosion to the face - she was coated in blue-black blood that was smoking faintly, the blood of the demon she supposed, and shuddered again and counted herself lucky that her own blood didn't mingle with it. Climbing to her feet, Sal staggered the first few steps back toward the battle, gaining more coordination as she went. Her mind flickered back to the apparition of the green-haired male night elf she'd thought she'd seen; the only green-haired anything here was her, and she shook her head, wondering how hard she'd been hit to dream up something like that.

Many yards away, the demon was rising from the dust and turning his attention to Mikael. Sal stumbled into a run, leaping into the air and landing on four feet once more, her feline form lending her speed as she raced to her friend's aid.

Still above, having partially cut through the stubborn webbing trapping Arator and Trollbane, Meraka wedged herself into the slash she'd made and awkwardly half-turned, aiming her free hand at the back of the demon that was bearing down on Mikael and Tebrion.

Arator had regained consciousness, and he wiggled a hand up and gripped Meraka's arm securely, nodding to the mage as the orc began a lengthy spellcasting. She was risking much, planning on a powerful spell now that the demon was squarely between herself and her allies; she'd have to botch this spell royally to miss and harm the others. The cocoon swung in a wide arc when she released her spell - the resulting fireball was about ten times bigger than she had intended, and the kickback from the spell sent the free-swinging cocoon flying backwards.

"I...that was unexpected," Meraka said faintly, eyes wide as she watched the spell slam into the demon's lower back and explode.

The spell had been meant to damage, not immolate, and so the demon had no way of dispelling such a magic. It tore into his flesh, burned away his protective armor and brought forth a roar of pain and quite possibly fear. The demon had been injured twice now, and the injuries weren't the only thing beginning to tell.

Mikael and Tebrion scrambled out of the way as the demon flailed, sending blood from his gushing stump swinging in a wide circle, the liquid staining the rocks black. The lower half of both wings were scorched and full of holes, blackened and cracked; his lower back was so much burnt chitin and raw flesh.

Sevei hit him then, shoulder-checking the beast and sending it stumbling, wings flapping wide for balance; the shaman's axe bit deep into a wing joint shortly afterward, nearly severing the appendage and sending the demon into a frenzy of beating wings. A gush of blood sprayed at him, and Sevei ducked to avoid catching a face-full; it splashed onto his left shoulder and immediately congealed into a pulsing mass that began to emit dark, but choking, smoke. Reaching through the acrid smoke blindly, Sevei unstrapped the shoulderguard and let it fall to the earth even as he threw himself forward into a roll underneath the sweeping claw of the angered demon. Sevei rolled to his feet with his back to the creature and kicked straight backwards - his hoof connected solidly with the demon's knee with a crunch.

"You will fall, foul creature," Tebrion yelled, hands out and palms facing the staggering demon.

His hands flashed yellow and the resulting blessing slammed into the already injured knee; holy symbols flared to life and the demon clawed at them with his remaining hand, howling in terror and agony.

Wings spread wide, he knocked Sevei aside and dodged as Saliea - her sleek cat form soaring through the air - leapt at him. Blasting them all with grit, the demon - somehow - took flight, cradling its bloody stump against its chest and glaring balefully down at them.

Mikael gave Tebrion a shove that sent the priest stumbling behind the thick base of the nearby vines, ordering him to stay down. He dropped his sword point-first into the dirt at his feet, the swordtip effortlessly sinking several inches into the ground, and launched himself into a furious spellcasting. When the warlock gestured, the same glowing runes etched themselves across the demon's chest and left shoulder.

The demon's eyes widened. "What is this nonsense?"

Mikael grinned nastily in reply. "This one will sting a bit more than the last, I'm afraid." And it would - he had gotten through the entire spell this time, and so it wouldn't detonate quite so soon; it would spread, infect the demon's flesh, and then likely blow the thing apart when it went off. Problem was...it would take much, much longer for the curse to reach its full duration and explode.

"I cannot dispel this!" the demon roared, once again attempting to claw the runes off in his haste to rid himself of the magic.

Mikael shrugged. "Wouldn't be much use to me if it could be dispelled, now would it?"

Mikael immediately regretted his cocky words as, seconds later, the demon choked out a wide spray of webbing that encircled the human and trapped him in place. He was stuck standing upright, and quickly realized the webbing was either semi-sentient or being controlled by the will of the demon - he fought with his hands and craned his neck back as tendrils of webbing reached for his throat and face.

"I will crush you alive!" the demon snarled, his remaining fist tightening.

The webbing reacted and Mikael felt the breath squeeze out of him in a whoosh. Now, he was forced to tighten his muscles to keep his chest from being crushed, and that allowed the tendrils to wrap almost lovingly around his neck and up his face.

The demon's laughter was short-lived, as a raging inferno in the form of a sphere rocketed over Mikael's head and slammed into the beast head-on, blowing him out of the air. The demon crashed into the mountain, sending rock and dirt everywhere. Meraka floated in the air, the freed Arator and Trollbane levitating just behind her; the shattered remnants of the cocoon that had held them rained to the earth like broken glass, falling near to the trapped warlock. The half elf and human sported multiple cuts from the debris - Meraka had finally given up trying to extricate them carefully and had just pulsed arcane energy through the web until it shattered - but otherwise they looked fine; Trollbane was eying the ground several feet below them.

"Well, let us down," he finally said, swinging his feet helplessly.

"To do what?" Meraka asked, not looking back at him as she both channeled the levitation spell and focused on casting another spell - this one aimed below her at Mikael. "You are weaponless."

"I...at least let me do something," Trollbane growled, fists clenched at his sides.

"Then shut up," she growled, finishing her casting and releasing a flurry of bright purple motes of light from her palms that streaked down and pelted the webbing holding Mikael. It was a variation on the spell she had used to free the other two, and she hoped it would have the same effect here.

Under the purple rain of magic, the webbing ceased its constricting and hardened; within it Mikael felt it stop and become more like a shell. His eyes were shut tight, but he didn't need to see to cast the spell that came to mind. With barely enough freedom of movement to twitch his lips, he muttered the incantation and mentally braced himself for the pain that was sure to come. The demonic hellfire he had summoned formed at his feet and burst outward, encountering the solid wall of webbing and racing up the tiny spaces between Mikael and his prison. The resulting pressure nearly made the human black out, but the webbing cracked and, coupled with the pounding it was taking from without, broke away from his upper body and allowed him to suck in a much-needed gasp of air.

Meraka immediately halted her spell, then recast it and aimed lower, at his feet. Mikael wiggled a hand free and began ripping and tearing at the jagged edges.

Behind, Saliea - back in caster form, healing her minor wounds - was tugged gently to her feet by Sevei; the shaman looked her up and down, concern etched across his face.

"Are you okay?" they asked each other at the same time, bringing forth small grins despite the seriousness of the situation.

"Thank you for healing me," he said, brushing a hand across his chest.

"Nothing is broken?" Sal asked, reaching out to heal a cut on his neck.

He shook his head, glancing over at where the demon was peeling itself off the mountain. "My strength is spent, I'm afraid." He looked at her sheepishly. "And he seems to be mostly unfazed by my blows."

She grinned at him. "I think we've blown most of his armor off by now." She reached inside herself, readying to change her shape once more, then stopped as a wave of dizziness threatened to overcome her. "It would seem my strength is gone as well. I am unable to shift forms," she growled, cursing herself.

"Meraka seems to have plenty left," the shaman commented. "Perhaps we should merely support her and the warlock for now." His eyes were still on her. "Are you...certain, you are all right?"

Sal nodded tiredly; her strength was spent and her connection to the natural world wavering with her exhaustion, and she ached from the bruises and injuries that covered her. Being trapped in her elven form, unable to shift to the form of combat she had been trained in, she was mostly useless in this battle now. Spying Tebrion rising from his hiding spot, she motioned him over to them; the priest hurried to them, staying bent over and keeping his eyes on the demon as it finally disentangled itself from the rock and climbed to its feet.

"Why are you – you've exhausted your means of fighting, haven't you?" he said upon reaching them. Both Sevei and Sal nodded. Tebrion nodded grimly. "Honestly, so am I nearly. I have been deflecting damage away from everyone...concentrating on so many people at a time is especially draining for one lone priest..."

Sevei clapped his hand on the priest's shoulder. "You have done well this day. We have all pushed our limitations, I believe. Even if we fail here, the alarm has been sounded..." he sighed heavily. "I again wish you had not followed me. I do not want to be the cause of your demise."

"It was our choice," Tebrion said firmly. He opened his mouth to say more, then his eyes widened as they fell once more on his sister. "What in all hells happened to you?"

Sal looked down at herself sheepishly. The curse, when it had detonated nearly in her face, had blackened her armor and the skin around - and likely beneath - and left a sizable burn down her arms, and she grimaced at the layer of black blood that had congealed where it had splashed her – most of it seemed to have been burnt away, however. Being lifted into the air by the spell and then thrown through the vines had torn additional cuts in the armor and left bruises everywhere. She hadn't realized how bad she had looked - and now understood why Sevei had looked at her like he had - but it looked a lot worse than it actually was, and she said as much to the night elf...it didn't erase his frown, but at least he wasn't about to lecture her like he usually did.

A chill raced down her spine suddenly; by the way Sevei and Tebrion twitched, she knew it wasn't just her that had been struck by an odd feeling. She raised her gaze from her armor and glanced up at the demon, and was surprised to find it hovering in the air, but writhing and flailing with its horrid features twisted in pain and fear.

Meraka slung a handful of those arcane bolts at the demon, then rapidly set herself and the others on the ground, her levitation spell spent. Even as their feet touched the ground, Mikael was diving for them, outstretched arms sweeping up Meraka and tackling the two men to the ground as the world went white.

The magical backlash from the detonating curse spawned a massive blast of air that sent Saliea, being much lighter than her fellows, sliding backwards into Sevei's chest.

Before them, the curse worked its agony on the demon. Its skin seemed to melt away, pooling in a viscous liquid around the demon's feet; bare muscle twitched and a strangled panting escaped the mouth of the demon as it looked down in horror at the smoking remains that had been its forearms and abdomen. Slowly it tilted backwards, falling over like a felled tree.

The smoking carcass lay on the ground, unmoving; Mikael was already up and poking at it. He straightened, reaching into a pocket and pulling out what looked like a purple gem. This he held above the prone form of the demon, chanting softly and dropping the gem; it stayed floating in midair, smoky black tendrils wafting from it and twisting into chains, encircling the form below it. Mikael stood still, palm down over the demon; the chains bound the demon, wrapping around the ruined chest and burrowing through the muscle to wrap the heart securely, the other ends floating up to wrap around the warlock's hand and up his arm.

Sevei steadied the druid, wiping dirt and grit out of watery eyes; everyone was likewise brushing themselves off and clearing their vision and throats from the dust kicked up from the curse-spawned wind. Eventually, all gazes fell silently on Mikael.

"Rise," the warlock said finally. The broken form of the creature struggled painfully to its feet, eyes glaring murder at the human but unable to disobey, his good hand fighting to hold its entrails inside him. Mikael fixed him with a glare, then tugged the chains and sent the demon falling to its knees. "I order you to tell me what you planned to do to open that gate."

"Enslaved me you may have, but you're too late to stop the gate opening," came the rasping reply, punctuated with laughter.

Mikael's eyes narrowed. "Explain."

"You didn't think I would put the gate somewhere you could have destroyed it, had you destroyed me? No. You are too late. The ritual is set. The gate shall open."

The warlock gestured and instantly the demon was on the ground, flailing helplessly as agonizing pain assaulted its senses. Mikael halted the spell a moment later and the demon lay bonelessly on the ground, panting with its horrid wounds coated in soil and partially laying in a pool of its own blood and dissolved skin.

"Tell me where."

The demon hesitated, and Mikael tormented him again.

"Tell. Me. Where."

"It matters not!" came the reply. "Kill me if you wish, I shall be punished by my master for failing! You can do no worse than - DARRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!" Again, Mikael's spell set the demon into a frenzied writhing.

"There are torments worse than death, you know," he said quietly. "Tell me, and I shall release you back to the demonic plane without permanently destroying you."

The demon now bled from mouth, nose, and eyes in addition to everything else. Weeping his tears of blood, the demon gnashed his teeth.

"Every time you disobey me, the spell harms you. Simply tell me where the gate is, and I'll let you go."

"Showing mercy to your enemy? How quaint," came the gargled quip. This time, Mikael let the spell go on until the demon quit screaming; now whimpering, making noises in the back of its throat, the demon watched warily as Mikael leaned close.

"Tell me."

"...n-north. Northeast."

"Where northeast?

"A cave. Only cave in the area."

"Thank you," Mikael said coolly. He gestured, and with a shriek the demon bucked and thrashed.

"You said-"

"I lied," Mikael said bluntly, clenching the hand holding the chains. With a gargled sigh, the demon died as the chains constricted, crushing the heart and tearing the spirit asunder.

Mikael turned then, to meet the silent, stunned gazes of the rest. He kept his face composed into one of indifference, turning his eyes to Meraka. "You sensed where the demon went, following Arator's magical presence. Then he teleported here. Can you take us to where you think he teleported from?"

"I...I..." she stammered, unnerved. Her gaze kept sliding from the warlock to the broken and bloodied form of the demon on the ground.

"Can you?"

"I-I think so, maybe."

"Then do it," he said quietly. He walked away, retrieving his sword where it rested in the ground and sliding it back into its sheath. He looked back, and Meraka jumped when his gaze fell on her again; she hurriedly began pulling reagents from her pouches, mixing colored dusts in her palm and then sprinkling them over a small charm.

"Everyone stand close," she said when she had finished. "I'm not certain I can send us somewhere I haven't physically been."

She waited for everyone to crowd close, then waved her hand and spoke the proper words of magic. They disappeared in a flash of blue lightning, and reappeared in the middle of a crevasse somewhere still in the Hellfire region. Meraka looked around, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips.

"Anyone have any idea where we are?"

Trollbane was already scrambling up the side of the crevasse, sliding several times in his attempts to get to the top; finally he reached the edge and hauled himself over, rolling himself out of sight. Moments later he leaned over, gesturing for them to come up.

"I know where we are, I think. We are just north of a Legion forge camp - the one they call Annihilator, if memory serves. I know of no caves in this area."

Arator shook his head. "We haven't much explored this area, the Horde tend to turn our scouts away when we get too close to Thrallmar." The half elf shrugged, then offered a hand to Meraka to assist her up the steep rocks. Slowly, they all clambered up and over, finding themselves staring into hills and sharp peaks of rock stretching out before them...until they disappeared into a purple haze many yards away.

"Careful," Trollbane warned. "You don't want to fall off the edge of the world - and that is not a joke." He pointed at the purple haze. "Draenor was shattered, and so wandering off the edge of the world is a very real danger here."

Mikael, his face still carefully composed into an expression of polite indifference, fixed him with a blank gaze. "If you're done, would you suggest a way to start our search?"

"Open your eyes and look," came the reply, the other human's eyes narrowing as he glared back at the warlock.

Sal cleared her throat hastily, stepping forward several feet. "Then let's start searching. Stay within earshot of everyone else if you're forced to go out of line of sight."

They spread out, carefully walking into the shadow of the rocky peaks, eyes roaming over the bleak landscape to see if they couldn't spy any sign of a possible cavern or niche where some sort of demonic ritual could hide. After several minutes of searching, Meraka caught the faintest hint of magic...not demonic magic, but regular arcane.

She turned, the fingers of both hands extended outward toward the ground like divining rods; a source of untainted arcane magic in the midst of the demonic interference of this entire region was something she felt needed investigating. She left her eyes droop partially shut, focusing her attention on that wisp of magic she could feel; slowly, the orc turned in the direction of a peak to her left, eyes moving up until the urge to stop came over her. Cocking her head to one side, the mage studied the seemingly blank rock wall, probing at it until she discovered the makings of a cloaking spell.

Cloaking spells were tricky. They were like throwing a sheet of fabric over something to hide it - the fabric would occasionally have threads sticking up that gave it away. Meraka had found the 'thread' of the spell, and she pulled on it, feeling the magic unravel to reveal -

"I've found it," she said, pointing up at the now-visible cave entrance.

"Stay down here," Mikael ordered when they'd all climbed to the base of the peak. He strode off and began to climb without waiting for the rest, nimbly climbing up the rock and disappearing into the dark above.

Sevei had made to climb after him, but Sal hung on his arm, stopping him. When the shaman turned to her, he was met with a pleading look.

"Sevei, wait..." she said quietly. "Let him go."

"But-"

She shook her head. "He's...different," she said finally, looking after the warlock, worry etched on her face. Sevei gently patted the hands that encircled his arm; he too had been a little disturbed by the...outright cruelty Mikael had displayed only moments before. It seemed to be exactly opposite from the laughing, joking Mikael they had seen up until this point.

"Let him go," she said again, quietly. 'Perhaps his anger will dissipate, and we are not so far away that we cannot reach him if he needs help,' she added silently, biting at her lower lip. She left her hands where they were, with Sevei's hand resting lightly over her own, and stared up along with everyone else at the cave opening where Mikael had disappeared.


	13. Chapter 13

Mikael waited until he was out of sight of the others, then gave in to the pain.

He dropped, staggered and fell, to the ground inside the cave, curling around his midsection and groaning aloud. His heart was thudding against his ribs, and his mouth tasted metallic; he beat his fists against the ground without realizing it, only noticing when he wrapped his arms around himself and could feel the heat rising off his hands. He held them, slightly shaking, before his eyes to see he had banged them raw and bloody.

'You cannot keep doing this,' he told himself over and over in his mind. 'You'll die before you find him, and then what will become of Father?'

He lay there, curled into a fetal position, until the pain lessened and he could straighten up; now he lay flat on his back, taking deep, careful breaths. It had taken most of his concentration to maintain himself, to keep the others from seeing his ailment...but now, now...

With a grunt, he rolled to his side and spat, his saliva tinged pink with blood. Wiping his lips Mikael rolled to his stomach, then took another deep breath and pushed himself to his knees, then slowly got back to his feet. His gaze remained a moment on the smeared bloody hand prints he'd left on the stone beneath his feet as he tried to ignore the core of pain radiating from his chest, then his eyes found the remains of the circle.

The warlock could feel the energies beating at his body and mind like a trapped bird; he stepped closer, going down on one knee to closely examine it. He spied immediately the ruined rune along the edge, and wondered if the dead orc that occupied the circle had been the one to smudge it out of alignment, perhaps in its death throes, only to be staked down later. Either way, while the rune itself had stopped the ritual, it hadn't stopped the magical energies. Mikael would need to destroy the circle entirely to prevent anyone from repairing the circle and allowing the magic to continue, and if he did not dissipate the energies already gathered here it could easily destabilize the surrounding area.

Cautiously, Mikael pushed a hand over the circle, feeling the biting magic whirling along his bare skin; crossing such a magical barrier would prove costly to anyone not well-versed in demonic magic, but not Mikael. He reached out and seized the energies, drawing in into his hand and out of the circle. He felt the magic race up his arm and spread across his body in a warm wave - he was turning the magic's dark energy in on itself, forcing it to do something it would not normally be able to do without a live body to drain from: mend. The tightness and residual pain in his chest melted away, and the warlock could feel bruises mending, and aches disappearing, as he pulled the slain orc's life force out of the rune circle and into himself.

When the circle's glow faded, drained entirely of magic, Mikael pulled his sword from his belt and readied himself. He needed to foul the circle, to make it so no one could ever use or redraw it...normally, he would ask a priest to contribute, but as Tebrion was still safely down with the rest of them...

He rested the flat of the blade across one palm, sighing deeply, then turned the blade on its side a and pulled it quickly across his skin. Blood welled in the palm of his hand, and he made a fist and turned the palm downward, letting droplets spatter to the stone.

"Ars hsake i'tu'akla norst mhrekae a isen qor. By my blood do I bind you silent and still," he intoned. The spell was a potent one - it was fed by his blood, and empowered further by all the fel energies he had just absorbed. His blood on the stone at his feet began to sizzle and hiss, and spread in a wash over the circle - covering far more than the amount of blood present should have. The body of the orc simply dissolved as the power washed over it; the spell and the blood covered the circle entirely, and within moments it faded and took all traces of the circle with it. The ground retained a brief shadow of the circle, however - it took on the hue of Mikael's blood, but it was now sealed, no magic would ever function within this cave again.

Mikael smiled, then it took every last bit of effort left in him to remain standing; the rush of demonic energy was no longer keeping him going. He was healed, certainly, but he had poured every bit of magic he possessed into the sealing incantation. It was a powerful spell, and not something he used often as it drained him completely and tended to leave him vulnerable.

Vision swimming, he stumbled back toward the mouth of the cave, dazedly wondering how he was going to climb back down.

* * *

Night was falling, if you could call it night. Hellfire didn't so much grow dark as it got darker - the land lost its rust red hue and instead became the color of partially congealed blood, a dull brown that almost made the rust color look cheerful. The moon and the stars, hanging so close to the land, didn't really allow it to get very dark in the evening; broad stripes of light crossed the sky at all times.

Mikael sat on the top of what remained of the wall surrounding Honor Hold. He was hunched over, his newly-healed hands planted on the stone to either side of him to hold up his hunched over form. His legs dangled over the edge, kicking the stone as he swung them idly; he was alone, everyone else having gone with Trollbane into the keep.

Isildor had been incredibly relieved to see Arator and Trollbane returned - there had been no further sign of demons or anything of that sort since they'd all rushed off. Mikael hadn't decided to tell anyone that the ritual circle had already been halted when he had gotten there...he wasn't certain what they could even do if they knew that, and so kept it to himself for now. There wasn't any clue as to who had stopped the ritual...best it remain a secret with him, he believed, and he still ached and was exhausted from the day's events, and so being talkative about anything didn't appeal to him in the slightest.

That decision was weighing heavily with him now, though. The warlock was beginning to wonder if he'd been right in withholding that information, but what could they do with it? There was no clue as to the identity of the one who had done it, there was nothing they could do about it...and yet...

His thoughts were interrupted when a bottle was thrust right before his nose.

He jumped, grimaced at the sudden movement, then took the bottle and looked up in surprise as Saliea settled on the wall beside him.

"I...didn't hear you climb up," he said finally.

She smiled at him briefly. "I gathered as much when you nearly fell over." She held a bottle in her hands as well, and she expertly popped the cork out and raised it to her lips. "It's only cider," she added, sipping.

Mikael stared at the bottle in his own hands a moment before popping out the cork and catching a whiff of the fruity cider within. Taking a drink revealed it to be an apple cider with some sort of berry mixed in; nonalcoholic, which was just as well as he tended to avoid anything that dulled his senses.

"Thank you," he said quietly, sitting the bottle carefully on the wall beside him.

They sat in silence a while, the elf enjoying the cider while Mikael hardly touched his. His gaze took to wandering the horizon, and so when his eyes wandered finally to his right, he jumped when he found Sal looking at him intently.

"What?"

She shrugged. "I was wondering if you were well."

He nodded at her. "My injuries have mended -"

"That's not what I meant, Mikael," she interrupted quietly, holding up a hand when he went to speak further. "Mikael. What bothers you?"

He looked away, sighing. "What makes you think something is bothering me?"

"You were like an entirely different person toward the end of the battle...what is wrong?"

Mikael removed his sword from his belt and laid it carefully on the wall beside him so he could draw his knees comfortably to his chest. "I...nothing. Nothing is wrong."

He felt her hand on his shoulder then, and he stiffened.

"Mikael, you can tell me. I can see that something troubles you deeply."

He rested his forehead on his knees, inhaling deeply and letting it out slowly. "I lost my temper, is all. I didn't used to get angry so easily, but it's gotten to be...habit, I suppose you would say." He peeked up at her, eyes blank. "It troubles me that I've changed like that."

Her smile was kind. "There is nothing wrong with losing your temper every now and then, Mikael. Everyone is prone to do so, there is no shame."

"I didn't use to do so, though," he said grimly. "I'm not me when I become enraged...the person I become frightens me sometimes. That may have only been a demon, and deserving of the torment and end I gave him...but I still tormented something helpless. Why did I do that? Necessity? That isn't justification for what I did."

He further stiffened when her hand slid across his shoulders so she could hug him with the one arm. "You have yet to see me entirely lose my temper. I, at least, am fully capable of tearing someone's throat out with my teeth," she said dryly. "I understand why you are worried about yourself...but that doesn't seem enough. I get the feeling that is not all that is bothering you."

Mikael slowly inched an arm around her and returned the hug, hardly daring to breathe as he did so. Her slim form curled in against him, then she drew away, settling back on the wall beside him as he pulled his arms across his knees once more.

He composed himself then smiled faintly at her. "No, that is not all." When he fell silent, she raised an eyebrow at him and he laughed. "No, I'm too embarrassed to admit this one."

She snorted, grinning. "It can't be all that bad. I promise, you can tell me anything and I will both keep silent on it, and also not judge you."

Now he hesitated, wanting very much to tell her the other thing that had been on his mind since the escape from the caverns back in Azeroth. He drummed his fingers on his knees, biting at his lip. "Sal, how do you see me?"

"See you?" she repeated, looking politely puzzled.

"Yes, how do you see me? As a person?"

"Well..." she said slowly, eyes lowering to the wall as she thought. "I see you as...honest, humorous, courageous. Honorable. Intelligent. You are a good friend, Mikael, even though I have not known you long."

Mikael snorted. "The thing about that is, I have not been entirely honest with you. And it bothers me."

She blinked in surprise. "What?"

Steeling himself, Mikael reached over and took one of her hands in his own, and raised it to his mouth, gently brushing his lips across her fingers. "I...did not come here out of any sense of friendship to the shaman, not at first," he said quietly. He swallowed hard as he raised his eyes to meet her golden ones. "I came here because of my interest in you, something I should not have allowed to take root."

Sal was stunned, unsure whether she should pull her hand away or leave it to avoid offending him. "I...well. I didn't expect such an answer." The lie sounded hollow and hardly convincing, even to her.

Mikael shrugged and let her hand fall from his. "My reasons for coming here were at first entirely selfish in the fact I merely wished to get to know you better, perhaps attempt to court you. Arrogant and selfish of me."

Sal pulled her hand to her chest, rubbing the fingers of her opposite hand over the spot he'd kissed. "Mikael...I consider you a friend, nothing more."

"I know," he replied, smiling grimly. "And in all honesty, I wasn't expecting any other answer. It was a foolish fantasy of mine, nothing more...but I do feel better having told you."

"I am glad you were honest with me," she said. "You are not the first man to pursue me, but certainly the first to be so honest about it." She smiled at her hands in her lap, the smile not quite reaching her eyes. "There have been many after me...you might consider it a curse of my race. We are considered an exotic beauty by all the other races, oftentimes courted for the sake of being a mere trophy on the arm of some nobleman – come, see the immortal woman, delicate as a flower while also being as hardened as steel! It's foolish and stupid of anyone to think such things, yet that is what I hear the most from idiotic males. I find it frustrating that people see me as an object of display and not as a person, it does sadden me to have to hurt them in any way while turning down their affections."

Mikael shrugged. "There is always the risk of hurting someone, when you deal with love and lust."

They sat in awkward silence a moment then, Sal staring at the stone wall beneath them and Mikael eying the far horizon.

"Sal," Mikael said finally, sighing heavily. "Do I frighten you?"

She glanced sideways at him, staring at his profile framed against the red horizon. "Frighten me? No. Why would you?"

"Do you not fear that I may...one day lose control of my temper, and accidentally harm you? Harm the others?"

When she hesitated, he smiled grimly. "You do, don't you."

"The others were worried for you," she said finally. "And I admit I was as well...Trollbane was suspicious, but I don't believe he'll broach the subject with you. Seeing you transform like that was...odd to behold. It may have only been a demon, but...I did say I understand how doing something like that would bother you."

The warlock sighed heavily and jammed both his bootheels into the stone, using the jolt of pain to focus himself on something other than her proximity. "Tell them, for me, that I too fear my own temper." He stared at his hands on the stone wall, then pulled them into his lap and made them into fists; they trembled slightly, his knuckles white. "I never chose this path..." he whispered, biting his lip to the point he drew blood.

"Tell them I am fine..." he went on after a moment, licking his lips clean. "And...please don't tell them my reasons for being here. I shall tell them in my own time."

"In your own time," she repeated with a nod. She stood to go, then turned and, to his surprise, leaned over and kissed his forehead.

"Don't think I'm so foolish as to think that's ALL that is weighing on you, friend," she said softly. "I don't like seeing anyone in turmoil, nor do I want you to hide your problems from me. If I can help you, please let me. Find your peace, Mikael." With that, she touched a fingertip to his bleeding lip and healed it, then nimbly hopped down the wall and headed back across the courtyard toward the inn where everyone was going to meet after Trollbane was done talking to them.

He watched until she disappeared inside, his insides twisting with guilt over the fact he'd lied to her _again._

Mikael returned his gaze to the ground, sighing heavily. "I didn't choose this path," he repeated, grinding his fingertips into the stone. "I never wanted this." He rotated his head, feeling his neck crack and pop, groaning quietly as he worked the tension from his shoulders; as he moved, his eyes fell upon his sword, the faintest glow showing from the top of the sheath.

"It has always been you and me," he said softly, his fingers closing around the hilt and drawing it a few inches from the sheath, smiling at the familiar red glow of the blade. "Perhaps I was stupid to let it be otherwise." He pulled it free, holding it before his face and closing his eyes. "Then again...I have lived far too long without friendship." He felt the magic of the sword pulsing gently in his hand. "Am I doing wrong in allowing myself to be distracted from my duty?"

With a growl, he slid the weapon back into its sheath and picked it up, getting to his feet atop the wall; as an afterthought, he bent down and scooped up the bottle of cider he'd barely touched. Raising it to his lips, he briefly shook his head.

In a few gulps, he downed the bottle and let it drop over the side of the wall - it hit the soil and bounced away, beginning to roll as the ground sloped.

Inhaling through his nose, Mikael stretched, his hands holding his sword and sheath reaching far above his head. He felt...better, to be truthful, the guilt gnawing at him aside. He had to admit he had been truthful, to an extent...and while it bothered him that he'd still lied and had been believed, he'd at least been mostly honest with the druid and had learned his continued romantic pursuit would be foolish.

At least, for now it would be. The future may very well change, and the thought gave him a glimmer of hope.

He walked down the length of the wall to the crumbling part he'd climbed up - he didn't possess Sal's grace and so wasn't about to risk a broken ankle or worse by jumping off like she had - and, once his feet were firmly back on the ground, he let his steps lead him toward the inn.

* * *

Donnovan was doing well to hide his nervousness as he stood before the man.

"The gate is destroyed," he said quietly, steeling his mind and body - against what he couldn't be sure, but he knew his news was bad and that his lord had quite a temper.

The other was in bed, this time indulging himself with female company. Donnovan felt sorry for the terrified-looking human; her red-gold hair was disheveled, her blue eyes bloodshot, and she sported a few bruises about her collarbone. She had the blanket clutched up to just above her breasts and she kept her gaze averted from the night elf's; the man was naked, laying exposed to the room and seemingly at ease with his nudity.

Donnovan hated giving reports to his master in his master's bedchambers.

"Leave," the human barked finally, glaring at his bedmate.

The woman stumbled from the bed, leaving the blanket but scooping up her discarded clothing and clumsily dressing herself quickly before scurrying from the room. Donnovan had spied darkening bruises down her back and legs, and knew that she must have initially fought against the man's 'affections.' He almost felt a surge of respect for the girl, but his thoughts were interrupted when the other sprang up from the bed and rushed passed the night elf.

Stepping to the side of the room, Donnovan leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, mind beginning to explore the dark paths of wonder, conjuring all sorts of nasty punishments that might be heaped on him.

The man dressed himself in his robes, and seized his staff and book with shaking hands.

"How did they succeed?" the man asked softly.

Donnovan could feel the anger rising off the man like heat off a volcano. "I was under the impression that you didn't wish for me to reveal myself. They triumphed against your little pet and then somehow found the cavern with the ritual circle within it. I was not there, I only felt the ritual fail, so I do not know how they stopped it."

Donnovan had a split second to brace himself before he whirled around and pointed that staff at him. A blast of orange-tinted energy shot at the elf, and while Donnovan spun and ducked, it still clipped his shoulder and sent him spinning across the room to slam into the solid wooden leg of the bedframe.

"Why did you not kill them?" the man asked, his voice still dangerously soft, blasting Donnovan again. "I wish to know."

"M-my master," Donnovan gasped, curling around his stomach to present a smaller target. "You told me to insure they did as intended! Dying did not seem to be what was intended, at least not by my hand!"

The man shocked the elf again, then began to stalk around the room, his footsteps heavy against the floor.

Donnovan groaned from his spot on the floor, eyes watering. "I saw no n-need to kill them, they hadn't seemed to have failed...I do not even know what you expected of me. In fact, I had no t-true idea where Krataak even hid the gate," he lied, hoping that the man's anger would prevent him from detecting the false statements. "I did what I thought best." His shoulder and chest burned in pain, but his breathing was evening out as he willed himself to find his center, to focus through the pain. Donnovan rolled over and felt the cool stone floor against his cheek and used that as a focus to calm himself further.

He was facing away from the man, looking under the bed, and so could only hear the heavy footfalls of the pacing human. Swallowing hard, Donnovan began to will his muscles to relax one by one, until he was laying in the floor in considerable pain, but at least no longer curled into a ball.

The room had fallen silent, and the night elf peeked over his shoulder to see with a start that the man stood so close behind that his robes nearly brushed the elf's back.

"I want you to go to Seraventra," the man said coldly, kicking him roughly in the back. "I want you to tell her that her orders are to make them suffer. I want to taste their despair, to revel in their pain, and their failure. They must be pushed, it is true, but this time I intend to push harder than they can counter."

As the man delivered another agonizing kick to his lower back, Donnovan could only gasp and nod.

"Y-yes, Master Datavian."

* * *

Sevei hesitated at the foot of the stairs in the inn; Meraka had assured him that Saliea had gone up to the small room she and the mage were sharing, but he couldn't help but feel a tad ridiculous for having even asked. Meraka had politely answered him, then hurried off elsewhere - she was still clad in Mikael's cloak, with the hood pulled up to hide her face and her hands tucked within the folds of her robes. So far she had avoided any nastiness coming from the soldiers, but there were a few that openly glared at her whether she was cloaked or not.

Inhaling, Sevei started up the stairs to seek out the druid. When he reached the top, he knocked quietly on the only shut door - obviously the room Saliea was currently in - and waited a few seconds before the door was opened a crack and the elf peered out.

"Oh, Sevei," she said, smiling as she tugged the door open. "What is it?"

"I - uh..." he trailed off when she opened the door fully to reveal she was clad only in her cloth undergarments. She glanced down at herself, face tinged red.

"Well, to get my armor repaired I did have to take it off you know," she said sheepishly. "I really should invest in some clothing other than my armor. Anyhow. Come in, I only had the door shut because I was changing." She turned - causing the shaman to further blush when his gaze fell on the smooth skin of her bare back, the back half of her undershirt torn away and currently tying back his hair - and padded barefoot across the room, stopped at the heaped pile of her armor on the floor. She nudged it with a toe, turning to smile at him. "I seem to go through it rather quickly."

"Ah, yes indeed," he said, clearing his thought and attempting to set his mind back on track. "I uh, I came to see if you were well. Demonic injuries can be difficult, and you were covered in quite a bit of the blood."

Sal nodded. "It smoked a bit, and seems to have burned through most of my leathers, but didn't get through to my skin luckily. I just had some bruising that the priests here were able to heal easily." She looked at him, head tilting slightly. "And you? You are okay?"

"I am fine...I'm out some of my armor however," he added dryly, shrugging his bare shoulders. "The chestpiece was easy enough to repair, just a cutting away of the melted links and replacing them with new. My shoulderguard, however, was a lost cause, and I left the other one back on that ledge."

Sal looked at his bare arms, doing well to hide her admiration of the muscle rippling under the skin; she blinked and turned her attention back to her armor, lest her mind take her somewhere she really shouldn't be thinking about with him in the room. "I am glad we came away from that fight with few injuries, and victorious as well."

"Yes. We were lucky," he agreed. "Trollbane has ordered - yes, ordered - that we rest for the evening before setting out," the draenei went on with a chuckle. "We might as well, while they repair our things and Trollbane sees if he can receive word from other Alliance outposts. All we know is the messengers made it through, but we may yet receive information regarding the gates and further demon activity."

He stepped across the room and perched on the edge of one of the beds, facing Sal from across the small room. The druid gazed at him a moment, her expression unreadable, then moved over to sit beside him, her side pressed against his and her hands resting in her lap.

Sevei swallowed hard before continuing. "Ah, Sal...if you wish to go no further with me, I shall understand."

"What?" she asked, looking up at him. Sevei felt his pulse rise slightly as he returned her gaze, painfully aware of the limited space between his face and hers.

"Why would I leave now?" she went on, smiling up at him. "I will see this through to the end, by your side."

Against his better judgment, the shaman raised a slightly trembling hand and grasped one of Sal's, rubbing his fingers gently across the back of her hand.

"I...don't think I could live with the knowledge knowing I put you in danger, should something happen to you," he said quietly.

She turned her hand over, lacing her fingers into his. "It is my choice, Sevei. I am with you to the end, any end, though I hope it is a victorious one. Regardless of what happens, I am with you."

His pulse leapt again when, instead of pulling away, she leaned her head against his shoulder. His mind blanked a moment, unsure of whether he should think of something to fill the silence or if he should just let things be; he settled for lightly squeezing her hand, and receiving a squeeze in return.

"Unless, of course...you're trying to get rid of me," Sal said slyly, after a few minutes of silence.

"Of course not," he chuckled.

Saliea smiled, rubbing her cheek lightly against his arm and wondering if he could hear her heart racing.

She was turning to look up at him, her head tilting back and her heart in her throat, Tebrion suddenly filled the doorway.

"Sal, they can't repair it if you don't take it off -" Tebrion stopped abruptly, jaw dropping when he took in Sal and Sevei sitting together. "Uh."

The druid immediately leaned away from Sevei, her face flushing bright red from chin to the tips of her ears. "Yes, I'll take it down to them now," she said quietly, hopping off the bed and scooping up her pile of broken armor in one graceful movement. Hurrying for the door, she paused and glanced briefly back at the shaman, a small smile on her face, then she seized Tebrion's arm and she and the priest disappeared from sight.

Sevei remained the bed for several long moments, absently rubbing a hand along his opposite arm where previously Saliea had been holding him. Amusing thoughts of throttling Tebrion came to mind, and with a chuckle Sevei stood and returned to the room he shared with Mikael and the priest, mentally preparing himself for any sort of confrontation from the druid's brother.

* * *

Mikael had just stepped into the inn when he was roughly seized and slammed flat against the wall just beyond the doorway.

"I wish to speak with you," Meraka growled into his face, her own barely inches from his nose.

"You have my attention, I assure you," Mikael said, blinking in surprise at her.

The orc released the front of his and stepped back outside, tugging up the cowl of the cloak and hiding her hands within it, and Mikael followed along wondering at her anger.

When she had led him to the rear of the inn, the orc whirled around and snarled openly at him. "You damn blasted fool!"

"…all right?" Mikael said warily, eying Meraka as she began to pace restlessly. "Why am I a fool?"

She spun about in her pacing so vehemently that the hood flew from her head and she didn't bother pulling it up to conceal herself. "Do not think I haven't noticed what you're pretending at. Battlecasters...magi who have trained themselves to weave magic into their every movement...it takes decades to master, and they were carefully watched and monitored. They HAD to be watched, as so much power coursing through the body could tear one apart in the blink of an eye. Do not think I do not know my history. Such things were so common that the true path of the battlecaster was eventually forbidden to tread. Do you even know what you're doing? What you likely have done?"

"I'm sure I'm about to be told so," he replied.

He actually drew back from the withering look she sent him. "This is no laughing matter, human."

"I have a name," he said dryly.

Meraka ignored him and ran a hand through the myriad of braids decorating her head. "Battlecasters. They mastered the arts of magic and physical endurance, and combined the two to become a deadly foe on the battlefield, but untrained they are just as deadly to their allies as well." She paused, glaring at him through slit eyes. "To become one takes decades of study and training, to slowly build up the mind and body to withstand the enormous strain such a form of fighting produces. You are neither old enough or strong enough to rightly call yourself a battlecaster. You weren't even formally trained, as all records of battlecasters put them all dead decades before you could have possibly existed, and when they died out the knowledge was lost for centuries because it was strictly forbidden. Are you mad? Where did you even hear of such things? How did you learn of their existence?"

Mikael took a few steps back under her tirade, and eyed her cautiously when the mage came toward him several steps, staring at him intently.

"...how long, warlock? How long? And how much does it hurt?" she asked softly, after several tense moments of silence.

Unconsciously, Mikael's hand went to his chest, and the memory of the pain he regularly endured came to mind; angrily he forced it away, and forced his hand back to his side.

"That is none of your business, Meraka," he said coolly, swallowing hard.

"Oh, but it is," she said, still in that quiet tone. "You're killing yourself, Mikael. Those who aren't strong enough to withstand the pain and the pressure will die, and they will die in incredible pain. Your heart feels like it's going to burst sometimes, doesn't it? That is an indicator of the time left...the more it hurts, the less time you have walking this life. Mikael," she said, grabbing his arms and giving him a little shake. "The recovered records tell of battlecasters simply keeling over in battle, dead from the strain, their hearts burst, their lungs exploded. There is even an account of one bleeding from eyes and ears and drowning on their own blood. Do you understand what I am saying? And those are the ones who didn't detonate like a faulty explosive and kill everyone standing around them."

He pulled away, staring at the ground. "I understand you are putting your nose somewhere it doesn't belong."

Her face hardened, her eyes narrowed. "Warlock...if you do not cease this path, I will cease it for you."

His head came up, a look of defiance in his eyes. "Is that a threat, orc?"

"Of sorts," the mage growled. "I won't travel with someone who may die unexpectedly, someone who will prove to be a liability, but neither do I intend to abandon the druid and the others. No," she went on, glaring at him from the corner of her eyes as she resumed her pacing. "No, I will not leave them. But, I will spill your little secret to them, and let them decide on the best course of action."

"You wouldn't dare," Mikael blurted, hands balling into fists. "I- it's no secret."

Meraka raised an eyebrow. "No secret? Then why have you hidden it from them? I have noted your little attempts to hide your condition. They don't truly know what a battlecaster is I'm betting, all they could possibly have are the rumors of supposed-ones, elves and orcs who found the knowledge but lacked the training, but I do, and I know the signs of a failing one because I have studied history and came across what little exists of their memory. You must decide, warlock: be a fighter, or be a sorceror, but you are not strong enough to be both and you will die trying to be so." Her grin turned smug. "I imagine the druid would be quite interested in-"

"No," Mikael said sharply. "Don't tell them, don't tell anyone." He willed himself to calm down, and slowly unclenched his hands. "No...I...I will choose. Just give me your word you will not speak to Saliea of this."

Meraka nodded at him. "You have my word." She pulled up the hood of the cloak again and sniffed. "Thank you for the continued use of your cloak, Mikael. I...I like you, and I cannot say that for many humans. I won't stand by and allow you to destroy yourself. I promise not to tell Saliea, so long as you promise to make your choice and to stand by it."

"I will," he said quietly, allowing her to brush passed him and disappear around the corner of the inn. When she was gone, Mikael dropped to his knees with a growl that slowly turned into a deep sigh. His hand found his sword at his belt again; he ran his fingers over the pommel, thinking of the weapon and its origin, and wondering which choice he would take...fighting, and magic, both ran strong in his blood.

* * *

The following morning they gathered outside the inn; Trollbane, Arator, and Isildor all awaited them near the gryphon master.

"I received no word back from Telredor," Trollbane told them. "This is not something that's uncommon, for the land between here and there is rough, and there's always magical interferences to deal with when trying to send messages." He shrugged with a snort. "You're either going to get there in time, or you won't, bluntly put but very true."

"We shall move quickly," Tebrion said with a nod.

The human commander nodded back, and gestured to the gryphon master, who in turn motioned for Mikael to step forward.

Trollbane cleared his throat and stepped forward, extending a hand to Meraka as the warlock was settled on his winged mount and sent off into the sky.

"Mage," he said formally. "I have not met many orcs in my time that weren't immediately trying to separate my head from my shoulders, but know that should you personally ever find yourself in need, you will have assistance from Honor Hold."

"I...thank you," the orc said, looking faintly embarrassed. "That is a -" she paused, spasming, a hand flying to her head. "Damn," she muttered, turning her back on all of them.

"Meraka? What is it?" Sal asked, stepping to the orc's side and laying a hand on her shoulder.

The orc waved her away. "Nothing wrong with me, it's just...when I joined the Horde, I presented the Warchief with a magical pendant that, no matter where in the world I happened to be, I would hear him if he called for me." She tapped two fingers against her temple. "He's summoning me, and he rarely does that so I must answer him, and straight away. Admittedly, I am amazed the enchantment managed to find me on another world entirely."

Sal smiled. "Well, if you have to go, then go. Perhaps once the Warchief hears of what has been happening, he might have ideas on how to find the culprit, or at least help."

"Indeed," Meraka said. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a glittering chain, which she placed around Saliea's neck. "Take this. It is enchanted and will enable me to locate you when I return to Outland. If my Warchief's summons can reach me even here, I'm hoping this will also act in the same way."

Saliea slipped the chain under the collar of her (newly repaired) armor. "Be careful, Meraka."

"You as well. Oh," the orc added, chuckling as she reached up to the clasp of the cloak she wore. "Return this to the warlock, would you?"

Sal took the cloak and folded it over an arm with a grin. "I will."

"I shall see you again," Meraka said, pulling a charm from a pouch and, with a burst of cold air, disappearing.

The druid turned to see that only she remained, Sevei having just been sent off on a gryphon to their next destination. She stuffed the cloak into her knapsack and strapped it to her back, then hopped up onto the mount indicated by the dwarf flight master, and within moments was airborne and following after her companions.

* * *

_Approximately three days after having departed company with Saliea and the others at Crossroads..._

"I...I not be shur about dis mon," Kakum said nervously.

"Stand up straighter and tuck that cloak in," Doraen Oakmoon ordered, glancing back at the troll.

Doraen Oakmoon, current head of the Oakmoon family line, was an imposing figure. He stood incredibly tall, had long, wild green hair held back from his face with a plain brown leather headband, and had a beard that would rival that of a dwarf's. He was a ranger, an excellent hunter, and his pet nightsaber Midnight was a fearsome thing to run into in the dark. Currently he was leading the troll under the great gates of Darnassus, and had been quietly instructing the troll on how to appear less...trollish.

"I be a troll, dis IS standin' straight fer me."

Kakum wore a heavy cloak with a hood pulled low to hide his tusks and long face; cloth covered his feet, giving him the appearance of wearing large boots. His bow was hanging across his back, and his quiver and sword were hidden at his back as well.

Doraen wore his bow and the greataxe he wielded in plain sight; he'd thought it best Kakum appeared unarmed should anyone realize what he actually was.

The ranger was leading him to Tyrande Whisperwind, high priestess of Elune and leader of the night elves, and Kakum was, quite frankly, scared out of his mind.

'_I be in enemy territory, surrounded by da elves, off ta see der leader. I am so ded mon...'_ he thought miserably to himself.

When he had left the others in Crossroads, he had intended to talk to Doraen and no more...so he had been quite against the idea of delivering his warning to the head of the night elves in person, but the ranger had insisted.

"Think of it, Kakum. A member of the Horde goes out of his way to warn his enemy of a greater danger," the other had said. "Imagine the response."

"Ya," Kakum had replied. "I see meself pumped full o' arrows and comin' out lookin' like a pincushion."

The elf wouldn't hear his arguments, and so Kakum was now following him into the depths of the night elf capital city. The troll was so nervous that he didn't even marvel at the beauty of the buildings, or at the great walking tree guardians, or even at the stone-faced Sentinels standing at every corner. His mind was preoccupied with conjuring more and more inventive ways in which he would meet his end here, far away from any family, and with only Doraen for protection.

He was trying to stand straighter, not walk with his usual shuffle but like a male night elf - which seemed to be all shoulder movements - and also keep his long arms from looking so...long.

He finally began to take notice of his surroundings when they approached a domed structure that Doraen told him was the Temple of the Moon. Upon entering the temple, Kakum did have to stop and admire the statue of a female elf holding a bowl from which water poured, gathering in a fountain at her feet, with all of the fountain bathed in a gentle glow coming from the roof above. There was soft grass and flowers growing on the temple floor, and stone pathways leading to and from the fountain, and also leading elsewhere in the temple. After a moment of admiration, Kakum scurried to catch back up to Doraen who was walking up a ramp to the upper levels.

They passed Sentinels, and finally came to a balcony on which sat a single draenei female, and several female night elves, one of which was dressed all in white robes with hair the color of midnight streaked with silver, and seemed to be the one the rest of them gathered around.

The white-robed female smiled at them. "Lord Oakmoon, I have not seen you in Darnassus in at least a decade."

Doraen dropped to a knee, Kakum awkwardly following suit. "Indeed, I have not returned here in some time. I am honored you have granted my request for audience. May we conduct this audience privately?" the elf added, still bowing deeply.

Tyrande's head tilted as she studied him. "Of course." She nodded to those sitting around her, and they took that cue and all left; when the high priestess raised an eyebrow at the Sentinels, they too left, although reluctantly.

Now alone on the balcony, Tyrande straightened in her chair and turned to fully face the kneeling night elf. "Now...you have not returned in some time. I can only imagine it must be something dire that has brought you back."

"You are correct, my lady," Doraen said, finally raising up from his kneeling position and taking a seat in the chair Tyrande indicated to him.

Kakum stayed standing where he was, swallowing hard and feeling like his heart was attempting to crack a few ribs and escape. He nearly fell over sideways when Tyrande looked at him.

"Who is your friend, Doraen?"

Doraen took a deep breath. "Before I reveal him, I ask you do not be alarmed. He is a friend and ally of mine, and it is he who comes bearing a warning."

When the ranger motioned for him to do so, Kakum reached trembling hands up to his hood and pulled it off, letting it drop to his back. To his surprise, Tyrande's only visible emotion betraying her surprise was her eyes widening.

"A troll. You risked much to bring him so far into our territory...not everyone understands that not all of the Horde are hostile," she said finally, looking between Kakum and Doraen.

"I would not have risked his life and mine if I didn't think his warning dire enough," Doraen explained. "Go on Kakum, tell her what you told me."

Aware he wasn't about to be struck down where he stood, Kakum slowly told the high priestess everything - about the demons, the gates, and his private suspicion that other attempts on the lives of public leaders may occur.

When he finished, Tyrande sat silently, hands in her lap and a thoughtful look on her face. "Dire indeed," she finally said quietly. "It was wise to bring him to me. We must warn the others." She stood quickly and went to summon handmaidens, when several Sentinels and a single priestess rushed in, all bristling with weapons.

Tyrande eyed them. "I did not call for you." Her eyes narrowed, her posture grew tense; sensing something was amiss, Doraen's hand inched for the shaft of his axe.

"An enemy in our midst!" one Sentinel exclaimed, rushing forward and seemingly ignoring Tyrande. "Protect Lady Whisperwind!"

Tyrande and Doraen both jumped between the Sentinels and Kakum, Tyrande throwing her arms wide, Doraen's hand closing on his weapon but not drawing it.

"Hold your weapons!" she ordered sharply. "He is under my protection, none shall harm him!"

"I - Kakum, what are you doing?" Doraen asked then, turning to see the troll had his bow drawn and an arrow held to the string. Even as Tyrande turned, the troll had drawn his bow taunt and was aiming directly at the priestess in the group of Sentinels.

"Troll, what are you doing?" Tyrande asked him, turning around. "If they cannot draw on you, you may not draw on them!"

Kakum ignored her, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the priestess. "I can smells ya, demon," he hissed. "Ya can't fool me, I know yer foul smell. I fought against ya, didn't I? And ya, ya know I'm right," he added, his eyes slipping from his target to meet Tyrande's. "Ya sensed it da moment they stepped in."

Doraen reached out a hand, meaning to snatch the arrow from the bow. "Kakum, stop this foolishness-"

Kakum jerked away, his arrow dipping to ground, and with the immediate threat of being shot removed, the priestess-demon acted.

With a snarl she leapt forward, fingers elongating into deadly talons that ripped through the air toward Tyrande, tossing Doraen aside like a ragdoll. The high priestess reacted just as quickly, ducking out of the way and calling for aid. The Sentinels faded from sight, mere illusions wrought by the demon who was even now scrambling after Tyrande, keeping the night elf off balance and, most importantly, away from the bow that leaned against the chair she had occupied a moment before. As the demon moved its form began to warp, the beauty of the night elf features it wore melting away into a ghastly visage of rotting yellow fangs and black scales framing venomous green eyes.

Tyrande's hands moved and a beam of silver light left her palms and struck the demon dead center, lifting the twisted body from the ground and sending it flying over the edge of the balcony. Even as it fell it was shifting forms, turning itself back into the perfect beauty of a night elf; Kakum rushed to the railing and let fly his arrow, the projectile striking the beast in the hip.

With a shrill keen, the demon impostor rushed from the temple and disappeared from sight.

"Doraen!"

Kakum turned to see Tyrande leaning over a bleeding Doraen, who was laying on the floor in a widening pool of blood, the demon having torn his side open when it knocked him away a moment before. The priestess was already working on closing the deep gash, but looked up at Kakum when the troll drew a handful of arrows from his quiver.

"Take care o' him, don' got many friends, mon" Kakum shouted, rushing for the railing again and leaping clear over it, landing nimbly on the ground and running passed startled priestesses and attendants, notching another arrow to his bowstring.

It didn't occur to him that he, a troll, was running through an enemy town, after a creature that meant to kill the leader of those who would wage war on his people. All he knew was this thing had injured Doraen Oakmoon, friend of Kakum, and thus had made it personal.

He sprinted from the temple, eying the ground and tracking the droplets of blood the injured demon had left behind. To his advantage, he was running fast enough that most guards didn't realize what he was until he was already running passed them; a few Sentinels, armed with bows, managed to get a few shots off at him, one even grazing his side, but mostly they were left behind him as he hurried to track down that phony priestess.

Kakum ran passed a tree shaped like a dog, and over a stone walkway over water, and found himself rushing toward a towering grove of trees-turned-to-dwellings. Night elves were finally starting to notice him, and he doubted he would brush passed them now.

Skidding to a halt, he glanced over his shoulder in time to dodge a volley of arrows and to also note the growing group of Sentinels, a few even mounted on their nightsabers, pursuing him. Ahead of him there was a varied group of elves rushing at him, weapons drawn and leveled his direction. Glancing around wildly, Kakum located the blood trail leading into a nearby dwelling and disappearing inside.

"Damn it," he snapped, dropping his bow to the ground and holding up his hands.

He heard several shouted orders, an order to kill him standing out above all else.

"HOLD!"

The Sentinels parted as Tyrande, sitting astride a white tiger mount with Doraen behind her, rushed through and positioned herself between the troll and the Sentinels. "Put your weapons down immediately!"

Doraen slid off the cat and dropped to the ground at Kakum's side. "Where did it go?"

Kakum pointed, even as a stern-faced, green-haired and bearded night elf exited the same dwelling the demon had run into. His eyes fell on Kakum and he gestured; instantly great vines erupted from the ground and wrapped around the struggling and surprised hunter.

"Tyrande, what is going on? Why is there a troll running freely through Darnassus?"

Kakum wheezed. "Air...needed...for breathin'..."

"Fandral, the demon, where-"

"What demon? This troll attacked one of your own priestesses-"

Even as Staghelm spoke, the demon impersonating a priestess walked out of the doorway behind him, now fully looking the part of injured night elf and was even trembling.

Doraen drew his greataxe even as Tyrande raised her bow.

"Fandral, the danger is at your back!" she shouted, letting an arrow fly as the demon, with a wicked grin, struck the Archdruid from behind. Its talons ripped through Fandral's shoulder, spinning the druid to the ground; even as he fell Staghelm was casting, a bright burst of green flame erupting from his palm and striking the demon's thigh.

With Fandral's attention elsewhere, the vines holding Kakum still fell away, and he dove for his bow, throwing himself into a roll and coming up firing. Three arrows thudded into shoulder and chest, driving it back from the Archdruid; Kakum had to cease firing as Doraen rushed forward, his axe flashing.

The demon hissed, leaping impossibly high and clinging to the vertical surface of the nearby tree like a spider, skittering up in an attempt to hide amongst the branches.

A blinding flash of light erupted from behind Kakum - Tyrande had fired a blessed arrow. It streaked skyward, curving around the branches and up in pursuit of the escaping demon. There was another flash from the hit, a brief detonation, and then moments later the lifeless body of the creature plummeted to the earth, crashing in a broken heap at the base of the trees.

Tyrande slid off her tiger and bent over Staghelm; the druid had a hole bored completely through his left shoulder and a strip of flesh hanging down his back, baring the muscle and letting blood pour down his side.

"What just happened?" he grimaced, allowing Tyrande to begin working her healing magics on him.

Kakum retrieved a few of his arrows from the ground where he had dropped them. "Dat, dat dere, was a demon. Prolly one o' dose I came ta warn ya about." He fixed Fandral with his gaze. "...I was travelin' wit Saliea."

The druid's eyes widened, then narrowed in suspicion. "I think you have much to tell me."

"Ya don' know da half of it, mon."


	14. Chapter 14

Staghelm lay on his side, his injured arm tended to by druids and priests that hovered about him; Tyrande had ordered him carried inside and placed in a bed, while she attended to organizing searches for any further demonic infiltration.

When they had bound his arm securely to his chest in a sling, and assured him that no demonic infestation of the wound was apparent, the Archdruid irritably dismissed everyone from the room.

"Except for you, troll," he growled. "I want to speak with you."

Doraen had flashed Kakum a helpless smile, had patted his shoulder before leaving; Kakum was now alone in the circular bedchamber that smelled strongly of thyme and fresh wood, with the injured druid glaring daggers at him from where he lay on the bed.

"Out with it. Everything," Fandral ordered.

Kakum quickly recounted everything he had told Tyrande, adding on how he had noted the priestess smelled wrong and had been correct in his guess that something was amiss.

"Smelled wrong?" Staghelm asked dryly, hardly looking impressed.

"Uh, ya..." Kakum said slowly. "Ya know, most o' ya elfies got dis woodsy scent to ya. Ya smell like fresh dirt, or a spring breeze. Even dose o' ya who aren't druids or sumtin, ya got a certain smell if ya ever take note o' it. She smelled like a dead firepit, really wrong."

Fandral waved his good hand at the troll. "Whatever. Explain to me, in detail, how you came to know the druid Saliea."

Kakum frowned at him. "I met her when she and da moocow tripped over me in da plains, mon. Dey was being attacked, I helped 'em out. Had a shammy, Numskull, after dem. I don' like Numskull, so I joined da little group. Tried helping her find her brudder, got captured wit' her at Crossroads. Got taken to Orgrimmar, asked all sorts o' questions. Eventually I got told we was ta help her find her brudder and then get her da hell out of Horde territory." He shrugged. "Den da story picks up with da demons in da caves. I only knew ya'd know her name because she talked about her family. Da moocow and da magey filled me in, being as I wasn't dere when she was talking. Dey didn't exactly catch everyting, but dey did get enough ta figure you were part o' her family somehow."

"And so you thought if you mentioned her name you'd find leniency. Wise move," Fandral said dryly. He struggled into a sitting position, hissing through his teeth when his injury pulled - he'd have to let it heal some naturally first, to be doubly sure there was no demonic infection.

"So ah..." Kakum said uncertainly into the silence. "...wat's gunna happen to me now?"

"You are currently under Tyrande's protection, which means likely you will be escorted far away from here and bid never to return, whenever she decides she done with you," came the reply. "Were it me, I'd have you executed."

"Well yer cheerful," Kakum muttered, hunching down into a chair near the wall.

Fandral studied the troll a long moment. "...do you intend to rejoin my fost- Saliea. Do you intend to find her again?"

Kakum nodded. "Yeh. I told her I would, so I will mon. Sumbody gotta keep an eye on 'er."

Something like a incredibly faint smile crossed the druid's face. "Indeed." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, adjusting the strap of the sling across his chest. "Can I trust you will deliver something to her?"

The troll blinked at him a moment. "Welluh...so long as it iddint too heavy, shur."

"It's not. It's quite small actually. I intended to give it to her myself, but if there's a chance that...if she is going to be out of Alliance territory for an extended period of time, I would like her to have something." The druid got up and padded barefoot across the room to a chest of drawers set underneath a window on the far wall; he pulled open the top drawer and pulled out a small cloth bundle, a drawstring sack that filled the palm of his hand. He walked back and handed the sack to Kakum with a sniff.

"Don't open it," he said dryly. "It is for her eyes alone."

"Shur mon, I get it to 'er," Kakum said with a shrug, sticking the thing into the front of his chestpiece.

"See that you do. If you don't, I will know and I will have you hunted down like a dog," Fandral said. He turned back toward his bed. "Leave. I have many things to organize. There should be a druid standing outside the door somewhere. Tell him to come in."

Kakum bowed awkwardly and hurried out, nearly tripping over the druid Fandral had mentioned. As the druid went inside, Kakum scurried down the walkway and bumped into Doraen.

"You're alive, and in one piece. Staghelm must be going soft," the elf remarked quietly, smiling.

"Shaddup. Wen do I get ta leave?" the troll muttered, following as the hunter led him further into Darnassus.

* * *

Meanwhile, Fandral was laying out orders to the druid Kakum had sent in.

"Alert all the druids within the boundaries of Teldrassil, I want them ready to move at a moments notice. Request of Whisperwind that a few Sentinels be assigned to my command, and ensure that they too are ready to leave at any time."

The druid, a purple-haired solemn fellow, bowed deeply. "As you order. And if I am asked why?"

Fandral fixed him with a glare. "Trouble could be on the way. If we must fight, I wish to be ready for it."

The other left to attend to his orders, leaving Fandral alone in his quarters. The Archdruid rubbed his good hand across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Saliea...don't make me come riding to your rescue," he muttered into the silence. "I'm no longer certain I could make it there in time..."

_Do not become another Valstann..._

* * *

Saliea slid off the back of the gryphon nearly into Sevei's arms; she gently squeezed the hand she held, the one he'd offered to help her down, and then quickly dropped the contact as her brother - who seemed to be constantly watching the druid and shaman as of late - raised an eyebrow. She returned his gaze evenly, proud of herself for not turning red with embarrassment for once.

Mikael was standing with his back to the gryphon platform at the top of a staircase, talking to a draenei that stood a few steps lower. The draenei's hair fell in a heavy braid down his back and was a light blue almost the same hue as his skin, and he lacked the facial tendrils Sevei had; he was wrapped in robes that left his muscled arms bare, revealing a few tattoos in black ink that swirled down his arms from shoulder to wrist. A staff was strapped across his back and had a wicked-looking curve to the end that glowed.

Mikael turned and smiled at her as she and the others walked up behind him. "This is Zion, he is a high-ranked member of the Sha'tar. He was the one who received our warning and has been in charge of searching for the gate or possible places one may be placed."

Zion touched a finger to his forehead - he too had a forehead like Sevei's, with twin horns sweeping back over his head - and bowed deeply. "I am honored to meet you all. Please follow me and I shall report to you what we have found...which sadly, has not been much. This demonic adversary you warned us about has been quite a slippery one."

He turned and gestured for them to follow; leading the way, they were soon seated in a spare room that appeared to have been hastily turned into a sort of command central. Various draenei were going about their business, smiling briefly if they made eye contact, but otherwise absorbed in their own tasks and duties.

Mostly. Mikael was being very careful not to let on that he was noticing the decidedly distrustful looks a few of the inhabitants of Telredor had leveled his way...but, being what he was, he couldn't really blame him. There were times when he didn't trust himself, and he was no stranger to the general attitude toward those who willingly trafficked with demons...no matter what caused a person to pursue that particular path...how these draenei knew he was uncertain, but he assumed the could either sense the fel energy around him, or Trollbane had told them what he was in one of the warnings he had sent ahead. He hoped that they would do nothing more than glare, as he did not wish to be forced to defend himself...

He abruptly shook himself from that train of thought and tuned back in to what Zion was saying.

"...but anytime we have found something that may be the key, it and all traces immediately disappear," the draenei - a priest, Mikael soon gathered - was saying. "They - if there is indeed more than one, and with demons there usually are - they are being quite mobile. It may be that this is a ruse to hide the true location of their ritual, and if that is the case we will need to double our efforts to locate it."

"What sort of things have you been doing to locate them?" Mikael asked.

Zion shrugged. "We have mages scrying alongside priests, and we have soldiers searching on foot. Most of Zangarmarsh has been claimed by either Horde or Alliance by now, so the chances of a problem cropping up right in the middle of a town's territory is slim. We have been focusing most of our efforts on the lesser-known areas of the swamp."

Mikael swallowed hard, knowing that this next suggestion likely wouldn't go over well - he suspected Zion wasn't exactly sure of what Mikael was, but likely had a vague idea. "May I...join your mages and priests in scrying?"

"Do you think it will make a difference?" Zion asked guardedly.

'No, he is QUITE aware,' he amended grimly. He instead nodded. "They can...channel their magics through me. My connection to the dark arts should help to narrow their focus."

"I...see. I will inquire if this is acceptable," the priest said. Mikael was painfully aware of how the priest's mannerisms and way of talking changed subtly toward him, now that he had all but announced that he was a warlock.

Zion excused himself, inviting them to sit and rest until his return. When the draenei had left, Sevei clapped a hand to Mikael's shoulder. "Do not take offense," the shaman said quietly. "Not many of my people accept those of us who chose the path of the shaman...they see it as turning away from the Light, and we've fought against the Legion and demons for so long it is hard to accept anything that willingly deals with such darkness."

"I'm fine," Mikael said sharply. "It doesn't bother me at all."

Sevei shrugged. "Give it time. There are warlocks dwelling in Shattrath now that are more or less accepted...there are still the old prejudices among the elders of course."

"I am quite used to it," came the snapped answer.

The others looked at one another helplessly; Mikael dropped heavily into a chair and rested his chin in his hand, propping his elbow on the room's only table. The other three settled into chairs set around the room - the small area looked as though it really had been set up in a hurry, with little time to organize much. Tebrion pointedly sat between his sister and Sevei, expression remaining composed in the perfect image of innocence even in the face of the glare Saliea sent him when she believed neither of the males were looking.

Soon enough, Zion returned and offered them another small bow. "They are willing to work with you. I will take you to them, and if the rest of you wish to rest or dine during this time you are welcome to. I'm afraid there is little for you to do at this time, not until our search parties return with reports of which sections they covered - it wouldn't do to have you searching something already covered."

Sevei stood, rotating his shoulders. "I shall search in my own way," he said. "The spirits here seem far less agitated than those in Hellfire. I may find something if they are willing to assist me."

Tebrion seized Saliea's elbow and steered her toward the doorway, ignoring her growled protests. "I will take this time to assist in the scrying if I can. My sister here _shall _spend this time resting." He glared at her and she fell silent, anger apparent on her face.

Mikael stood quietly and followed the ever-polite Zion out of the place, Sevei filing out behind them. He sent Saliea a brief glance, then left her alone with her brother without another look.

When they were in the room by themselves, Sal turned on her brother.

"What is wrong with you?" she snapped, fists clenching as she pulled away from him and retreated back further into the room.

"No, the question is what is wrong with you," Tebrion growled, stabbing a finger out the doorway. "What do you think you're doing with that draenei?"

Sal blushed despite herself. "I think I am helping him, as are the rest of us."

"That is not what I meant and you _very well _know it, dear sister," came the reply.

"You are not my father, Tebrion. You have no say in what I do or do not do," she growled.

The priest laughed. "No, I'm not Father, but I still have an obligation to protect you-"

"From what?" she asked incredulously.

"You barely know him-"

"Oh, like you knew Bylana?" the druid snapped, then immediately regretted her words when her brother's face hardened. "I'm sorry Tebrion, I shouldn't have said that."

"What's said is said," he mumbled tersely, sighing heavily "She's gone, at rest." He rubbed his chin, pushing away the memory of being held tenderly, of soft lips and of the single night where they had belonged to one another. Composing himself a moment, he then turned to Sal again, a properly angry expression on his face. "What matters here is I don't want to see you get hurt. Father isn't here to-"

"Advise me? Tell me I'm wrong?" Sal snorted. "Where's the point to living if someone else is going to do it for you?" She sighed heavily, looking at him. "I appreciate your concern, but choices and mistakes are mine to make."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You really think he's worth risking yourself over?"

Sal stared out the doorway, imagining the path Sevei might have taken. "...I don't know. Who would ever know? But...I do know I feel it's worth discovering. There's something there that's..." She shifted her gaze to Tebrion. "Was it like this...when you first met Bylana?"

He nodded, silent a minute or two, then sniffed. "Yes. It started with a glance, and could have ended up as far more had she not...well. I wish I had been there," he finished quietly. He looked over at her, then purposely stepped away from the doorway. "If you think you must...then go. I shouldn't stop you if you feel it's right."

"I don't know that it is right," she said as she stepped past him. "But..."

Tebrion waved her away, watching as she disappeared around the doorway; he rubbed at his chin, blowing out his breath and dropping into a nearby chair, thoughts on his long-dead lover and trying to ignore the prominent thought that his sister was in danger of falling into the same trap Tebrion had so long ago.

* * *

Tracking the shaman through the marsh wasn't difficult; his hoof prints were just beginning to fill with water when Saliea had set out to find him. They led through low-lying areas, shallow pools and grassy knolls, until Sal came out from under the towering mushrooms and found herself near the shoreline of a wide lake. The shaman had heard her coming; even now he was turning, looking up at her in surprise from where he sat at the lake's edge.

"Sal, what are you doing out here?" he asked, blinking at her.

She smiled at him, picking her way around a wide hole of mud. "I was speaking with some of the guards, asking about the land. You honestly didn't think I'd let you come out here alone with naga and other such nasties lurking about, did you?" she teased.

He returned her smile, an anxious, light feeling forming in his gut. "The naga mostly stick to their own territories."

She hopped the last bit of mud and landed near him, her boots sinking into the soupy ground. "How can you sit on this gunk?" she asked, wiggling her feet in the watery muck.

"I hardened the ground under me," he explained, running a hand over the area around her feet. She chuckled quietly when the ground around her hardened as well, the water running away from her boots and trickling into the lake.

"I am...happy that you decided to join me," he said softly, turning to face out over the lake. He felt her settle on the ground near him and cleared his throat. 'Focus,' he told himself firmly.

"I shall watch for trouble," she said.

He nodded idly, sending his mind out into the world of the elements. In moments he was flowing with the water through the land, the lifeblood of the marsh; he was the earth, slow, steady, and wise; far beneath the earth he felt the presence of fire, temperamental and destructive. He felt the life energies of the creatures in the marsh even as he was racing along with the wind.

The wind he had to be careful with; it was carefree, uplifting, and was also communicating to him the location of everything nearby, including the druid that was at his side. He had to focus quite hard to pull himself away from the feel of her hair in the breeze, caressing her face, hugging her curves...

'Focus!'

* * *

As the shaman immersed himself in the elements, Sal watched him at first from the corner of an eye; as the minutes wore on she turned toward and studied his profile (blushing some at the thought of what he may say if he came out of his trance and saw her looking at him), the hint of a smile on her face. Her brief conversation with Tebrion came to mind.

'Is he worth the risk?'

She had to examine that comment quite closely, and wasn't sure she wanted to. Abruptly she pulled her gaze from Sevei's face and scanned the area. She saw spore bats, rippling water where a fish had broken the surface, and saw several frogs all sitting in various spots near the water's edge. Inevitably though, her eyes went once more to Sevei.

She resisted the urge to reach out and lay a hand on his cheek - not only did she not know what that may do to his concentration in his trance, but she also had to think on what would happen should she do that; no doubt Sevei would come to, and then she'd be left with having to explain her actions. Was she ready for that? Maybe. Did she even know what she wanted to tell the shaman? Not at all, but unspoken words burned in her head and begged to be put into speech.

Irritably, she rubbed at her temples and shoved everything into the back of her mind, concentrating only on searching the surrounding area for trouble.

"Sal." Sevei's voice, low and harsh, cut into the silence.

"Sal. Sal, run."

"What? Why?" she asked, glancing around quickly and rising to her knees. She saw nothing wrong...

"Because I cannot move," he said sharply. She looked at him, saw his eyes and his mouth moving, but the rest of him was stock still.

"Run!"

"I'm not leaving you here," she said automatically, standing and tugging at his arm; it was like pulling on a rock. There was no give, no movement at all.

"Sal, the lake!"

She spun and looked out over the water, seeing that several yards out in the lake, the water was beginning to froth and roil. As she watched, dark shapes began to take form and swim methodically their way.

"Run, run now."

She turned and threw all of her weight against him and it was like hitting a rock wall. "I won't leave you," she said, rubbing her shoulder and turning to meet the threat coming at them from the lake.

Behind her, Sevei was mentally grappling with the spell that held him rigid; he couldn't determine the spell's source, but if he could break its hold on him he could take Saliea and run for the safety of Telredor. He hammered at it, beat at it, and began to feel the spell giving under his mental assault...he only hoped he'd be in time to protect the druid.

Saliea shrank down into cat form as the things raced up the shallow water toward them. They were squat figures, and looked like murlocs of all things; they moved fluidly, like they were part of the water themselves instead of flesh and blood creatures. Their skin was the black-brown of decomposed tree bark and it shined like the carapace of a beetle. She swung at one of them and her paw ripped it in two, sending a spray of blank gunk across the water and across the rest of the attacking creatures.

They were unfazed and came on like a tidal wave; Sal found herself crouched protectively over Sevei, unable to do anything but defend, and for every one of the mud murloc creatures she destroyed, another seemed to take its place. She couldn't see beyond the flurry of grasping limbs, and so her world soon became a whirlwind of flashing paws and exploding muck.

Sevei fought against the spell on him, and finally found a weak point, grasping and ripping at it with all his might; immediately mobility sped back into his body and he rolled to the side, coming up to his feet beside the druid and lashing out twice, once with each axe now in his hands. His blades sliced mercilessly alongside the druid's paws, and the numbers of their attackers didn't seem to decrease in the slightest.

"We need to run, this isn't working!" he called to her.

She ripped another in two, then swung the weight of her body around to send several crashing back into the lake, then sped after Sevei as the shaman turned and ran for Telredor. They quickly outpaced the odd beasts, but soon had other problems.

The land beneath their feet was growing more and more muddy, slowing them down as they were forced to slog through ankle-deep, then knee-deep, then nearly waist-deep mud. Sal had to change back into her elven form to even make headway; Sevei grasped her hand and pulled her with him as he plunged on, his worry growing as his shamanistic powers had little effect on solidifying or moving the muck.

He cried out when his feet quit moving, and threw Sal's hand from him.

"GO! Run on!" he said, feeling himself beginning to sink.

Sal stumbled, glancing over her shoulder to see the murlocs approaching. She turned back and gasped when she saw Sevei was chest-deep in mud and sinking rapidly; seizing his arm, she cast a hurried spell. Vines sprouted under their feet and lifted them out of the sucking mud, Saliea now the one doing the dragging as she helped Sevei stumble out of the mud and back onto drier ground. She left the spell where it was, hoping it would slow the murlocs down, and together she and the shaman sprinted for Telredor.

* * *

Mikael settled into the circle of priests and the single mage, all of them draenei and all of them looking quite uneasy to have him in their midst.

He tucked his legs in under him and set his sword on the ground, sheathed, beside him; he looked at each in turn, studying the faces of those he was about to scry with. The mage and two of the priests were female, the remaining three priests all male. Zion himself sat down, closing the circle around the warlock.

Mikael cleared his throat. "I've acted as a focus only once before, when I was being taught to do it, so please allow me a moment or two to become accustomed to it again before we begin the scrying."

Zion nodded silently, then laced his hands into his lap and shut his eyes, the rest of the circle following suit. Mikael rested his hands on his knees and took a deep breath; he had hated being a focus before, and was certain he'd hate it now, but with his attunement to the demonic arts he would likely quickly locate what they were looking for. He felt the power of the scrying magic build, coiling around him like a serpent, and he cautiously opened his mind to it.

He immediately felt the others in the circle, felt their wariness of him and outright distrust of someone who would willingly consort with the powers of darkness. Zion was a calm center amongst the rest, his polite indifference toward Mikael drawing the warlock's attention; it was then that Mikael realized what Zion was hiding. The priest hadn't been acting cautious because of Mikael, he'd been afraid Mikael would realize that he was a priest that utilized the exact opposite of the divine - the opposite of divinity, a shadow priest, one who could harm just as easily as heal. A surge of relief and faint gratitude wafted from the warlock to the priest, and Mikael felt Zion's surprise for a brief instant before the draenei immediately clamped down on his emotions and urged the warlock to focus.

Mikael pulled away and back toward the center of the circle, then began his work as the focus. He grasped the power of each individual and began to weave it together into one, with himself holding the power together. When he'd joined them all, he moved their gaze beyond Telredor.

At first he had to fight to hold the images together, wrestling to make them remain understandable, and he understood that it was such a struggle because the other draenei still did not trust him, and that was holding them back.

_Work together, or not at all._

Zion's sharp words resonated across the magic, and Mikael finally felt them grudgingly putting aside their distrust, and as they did the images of the marsh below came into crystalline focus.

Grasping the joined scryers like a safety tether, Mikael plunged into the marsh with his senses extended, seeking any and all sources of demonic taint or dark magic.

His attention was grabbed by the land itself, bearing traces of the Legion in some places. Careful examination showed that it was merely spoiled ground, no evidence of a gate or demon or anything of the sort. Next, his sense swung northwest, and he found ogre warlocks summoning imps from the demonic planes, and practicing their dark arts in small groups. There was no sign of anything out of the ordinary here, as Mikael gathered from the emotions of the group of draenei he held together in a weave.

He had to gently chastise them later, when he felt them trying to direct and control the magic, instead of riding it wherever it wanted to go, as Mikael was doing.

_Let it take a natural course. You will overlook a detail if you try to bend it to your will._

The draenei didn't seem pleased with the idea, but they once again fell under Mikael's lead as he let the spell carry them over the lakes and bogs of Zangarmarsh.

He couldn't tell how much time had elapsed, but finally he was gathering from the general consensus of the draenei that they had looked into every possible nook and cranny of the marsh and hadn't found anything. Carefully, Mikael began to release the strands of power he held one by one, until finally they were all sitting, exhausted, back in their bodies in the circle.

"I don't understand," Zion said wearily. "It was said there was to be a threat here, in the marsh, yes?"

Mikael nodded. "I can show you the gemstone if you want. It said there was a plan to open a gate somewhere here." He was shaking, his body felt drained; the human hated it, this was exactly as it had felt last time coming out of a group scry.

Zion climbed to his feet, taking a moment to center himself. "We must have missed something."

"Yes, we must have, or something is shielded really well," the warlock agreed, grabbing his sword and getting to his feet. The drained feeling was fading, as he knew it would, leaving behind a need to sleep that Mikael really, really wanted to act upon. "Is there anywhere I can lay down for a - wait..." he interrupted himself, the hair on the back of his neck rising. He instinctively turned west, though there was only the mushroom and the building carved into it to see. "Wait..."

"What is it?" Zion asked, looking first at him then west in confusion. "Do you sense something?"

"I...think so. It wasn't there when we scried," Mikael said slowly, pushing his senses outward. It felt like it was just beyond him, despite him pushing as hard as he could. He gently laid a hand on the mage's arm. "Could you join with me briefly?"

She drew back at his touch, but a nod from Zion made her lay her hand in his, her eyes going blank as she prepared the spell and reached out to him. Mikael pulled her power to him and used it to bolster his own, and when they had rushed out of Telredor and over the swamp, he felt and heard her gasp loudly.

There, at the lake shore they had just recently examined, figures were rising from the water and heading purposely toward the shore. Toward...

"Sal..." he breathed, breaking the connection. He seized the mage by the shoulders, shaking her. "Levitate me down."

"What?" she sputtered, leaning away from him. "What? What was tha-"

"Cast a spell of levitation, on me, right now," Mikael growled. She cast it even as the other draenei pulled her from him and turned to seize him. He evaded their grasp and rushed for the edge of the platform Telredor rested on.

Tebrion was just stepping out of one of the buildings when Mikael flashed by him, almost spinning the priest in a circle as he clipped the other's shoulder. Tebrion fell into the wall as the warlock rushed past.

"Mikael? What is it?" Tebrion called after him, shoving off the wall and hurrying after him. "Mikael, I- Mikael!"

Tebrion shouted in part surprise, part terror, as the warlock reached the edge and leapt headlong over it. He hurried to the edge and looked over to see the warlock floating speedily toward the ground far below; the priest dropped to his knees at the edge, staring open-mouthed downward.

"I'm going to kill him..." he muttered.

Clopping hooves announced the arrival of the draenei of Telredor, Zion at their head. Tebrion looked up at the priest and motioned silently after Mikael.

"He found something," Zion said with a shrug. "What, he did not say. I fear the druid is in danger - by the Light, the shaman was out there as well," Zion interrupted himself, face taking on a grim expression. He turned abruptly. "Ready the guards, I want a group with me and a group defending. Priest, are you coming?"

Tebrion was on his feet and moving before Zion had even finished giving orders, his thoughts on his sister.

* * *

Mikael hit the ground running, having landed far out from the base of Telredor. He spared only a moment to summon his dreadsteed before setting off at top speed for the lake shore he had seen Saliea fleeing from. It hadn't yet registered to him that Sevei had been with her - his thoughts were on the druid alone.

His mount skidded in the mud when he reined the beast in abruptly, having reached the shore and finding no trace, not even bootprints, of the elf. He made his mount circle the area a few times, leaning far from his saddle to see any tracks, but found nothing.

"Saliea!" he shouted, rising up in the stirrups and looking around desperately. "Saliea! Sal!"

Still nothing.

As he slid from the dreadsteed's back, the demon mount snorted and shifted, pawing at the ground with a growl. It turned toward the lake, almost expectantly, and Mikael too turned in time to see more dark figures rising from the water.

He drew his sword, the area around him becoming bathed in the red glow from the blade. "Saliea, where are you?"

"Losssssst sssssssomething have we?"

The voice was watery, otherworldly, and Mikael had a very real, very sinking feeling of where he was about to find the druid.

"How tragic. Perhapsssssss I can be of asssssisssstance."

An enormous shape rose above the water, above the crawling forms of odd murloc-like creatures that seemed to be made entirely of mud. It swam steadily toward him, and Mikael dismissed his mount and rapidly backpedaled away from the shoreline, sword held ready at his side and his mind already preparing a list of helpful spells.

The demon - for it only could be the demon they sought - towered over him when it reached shore, a giant naga-like beast with six arms and a massive tail. She, most certainly a she, was covered in scales the color of seaweed - a deep, oily green that shimmered in the weak light filtering through the mushrooms around them. Her face was eerily human-like, not at all serpentine like a naga, and she had a crest of spines running from her forehead down the length of her back, stopping just short of where a waist should have been, for the abdomen ran right down into the muscular tail.

Mikael took another step backwards, eyes narrowing. "Where is she? What did you do to her?"

The demon placed a set of hands on her chest in mock-innocence. "Who, me? I helped her out of a mud puddle. Sssssshe wasssss quite grateful."

"Release her," he snapped. "Right now, unharmed, or I will kill you."

She laughed, a strangled hissing sound. "I find it ssssso cute when mortalssss make demandsss. But, if you want her, you may have her, and her little friend asssss well."

The demon gestured, and the muck at her feet stirred, roiling up violently like a geyser. It formed into two pillars, then peeled away slowly, revealing the forms of Sevei and Saliea. They stood stiffly, their eyes shut and chins on their chests.

"Sal..." Mikael whispered. "What did you do to them?" he snarled.

The two lower-most hands on the demon reached down and gently stroked the heads of the shaman and druid. "Do? Why, I did nothing. They are unharmed, are they not? Jussssst assss you sssssaid." At her touch, their eyes opened; Mikael drew back as they flared a bright orange, glaring at him. The demon leaned down and gently kissed Sevei's head. "They're ssssuch niiiiice little petssss."

Mikael took another step back, cursing. "Damn you. Let them go!"

"Asss you wisssh." She drew back from the two, smiling wickedly at the warlock. "Go then, my dearsssss. Kill him. Kill your friend and desssspair."

"Yes mistress," Sevei and Saliea said in unison, their orange-glowing gazes locking on Mikael as they rushed forward.


	15. Chapter 15

Mikael's arm moved on its own, seemingly, to block Sevei's first strike with those axes; metal clanged against metal as the warlock turned aside the blades and then ducked under the shaman's reach, kicking his hooves out from under him. As the shaman stumbled to his knees, Mikael darted to the left and inwardly groaned as he saw Saliea coming right for him.

"Sal, please, don't make me hurt you," he whispered, gripping the hilt of his sword and throwing himself away and to the side, dodging the swung fist of the tiny druid. He wondered a moment why she didn't shift into one of her forms - she'd easily tear him apart regardless of his reluctance to harm her or not - but for now he counted himself lucky that he only had to go on the defensive with her.

Sevei was getting to his feet, evidenced by the hair-raising lightning bolt he sent barreling at the human; Mikael felt it miss him just barely, feeling the tingle of the energy race by. He turned and without a second thought sent a roiling ball of dark energy at the draenei; it hit Sevei and knocked him flat on his back, the front of his mail armor smoking.

His inattention to the druid cost him, as she hit him from behind hard enough to bring stars floating across his vision; he let his knees collapse, dropping to the ground with her on top on him. Bracing himself, he reached over his shoulder and seized a handful of her hair.

"Forgive me," he said quietly, before throwing his shoulders forward and tugging with his hand; the light druid flew over his head, Mikael twisting her in midair so she landed on her stomach before him. She was turning to leap at him, Mikael scrambling to pin her hands, when Sevei came out of nowhere and slammed full-force in the kneeling warlock.

To Mikael it was like getting hit by a charging bull. He was lifted into the air and sent splashing along the marshy ground until the shaft of a mushroom halted his momentum.

"What great fun thissss issss," he heard the demon hiss gleefully.

"Sal, Sevei," Mikael said hoarsely, looking up to see the two of them stalking toward him, spreading out to possibly flank him. "I know you're both in there, somewhere. You must fight her control!"

"They cannot hear you, human. I buried their mindsssss."

Mikael ducked, covering his head as another thrown bolt of lightning passed by narrowly above him, raining singed bits of fleshy mushroom matter on him. His elbows were sinking into the ground, and he was quickly beginning to believe he couldn't avoid injuring them much longer, when he heard the faint sounds of shouting in the distance.

"Over here!" he roared, rolling to his back as Saliea leapt at him. He caught both her wrists in his hands, dropping his sword to the ground next to him as he wrestled with the druid, who seemed intent on snapping very feline-line teeth around his neck.

"You know," he grunted, forcing her arms between her and him and attempting to hold both in one hand, "I once entertained thoughts of having you on top. This isn't what I had in mind." He looked up to see Sevei standing over them both. "...definitely not what I had in mind."

He jerked aside, rolling Sal off him as he avoided getting his skull crushed by Sevei's hoof. Mikael tucked his knees to his chest then kicked out, flipping to his feet and scooping up his weapon; as he spun to menace Sevei with the sword, he hesitated a moment at a twinge in his chest.

'Oh gods...not here, not now. I'm not even casting anything...' he thought angrily. His thoughts turned elsewhere when Sevei's fist connected solidly with his face, bouncing him back against the spongy surface of the mushroom behind them.

Mikael felt warmth on his upper lip, knew that Sevei had just likely broken his nose with that punch, and growled in frustration. "Quit giving me excuses to wipe you from existence!"

Sevei's face remained emotionless, his eyes glowing that eerie orange; Mikael ducked another swing, pushing off the mushroom and propelling himself away from Sevei, raising a hand to his streaming nose.

"Ow," he muttered, dabbing at the blood rushing down his face. In a flash, he realized he hadn't seen Saliea for a good minute or two; he was turning to look for her when she struck, two quick blows to the face that sent Mikael's already bleeding nose gushing. "Ow!" Instinctively Mikael backhanded her, snapping her head back. As she was recovering from the blow, Mikael tackled her and pinned her arms to her side.

"Forgive me," he said, slamming his forehead into hers. She went limp a moment under him, and he took that brief instant to implant a spell into her mind. Immediately the druid's eyes went wide and wild, her mouth opening in a silent scream as the spell, one of unimaginable terror, took hold.

He didn't get time to get to his feet before Sevei was upon him, those muscled arms locking around the warlock's neck and beginning to squeeze, ripping him away from the druid. Mikael gasped, again dropping his weapon as he reached up to try prying an arm away from his neck; he couldn't throw the shaman like he had Saliea, and he certainly wasn't about to budge Sevei's arms.

'Think, think, think,' Mikael chanted in his head, his vision beginning to darken around the edges. Spells came to mind, but those required either that he be able to breathe or they would most certainly harm Saliea as well.

Suddenly the weight was lifted from him, and he greedily sucked in lungfuls of air.

"You could not have waited two minutes?" Zion asked sharply, twirling that hooked staff around his head effortlessly. Mikael could only shake his head and breathe; he looked up to see Zion, the mage, a few of the priests he'd scried with, Tebrion, and a group of seven guards rushing up to form a semi-circle around Mikael. Sevei had Saliea cradled in his arms and was backing away toward the lake and the demon, his orange-glowing eyes fixated blankly on the Telredor group.

"What is wrong with him?" Zion asked, motioning for the group behind him to spread out.

Mikael waited, giving Tebrion a moment to stop the bleeding of his nose, then stood and picked up his sword. "The demon has some sort of control over their minds, and is forcing them to attack us. I can't - I won't - harm them."

"Any idea how to break her hold on them?"

Mikael shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine. Could be possession, could be magical compulsion."

The draenei simply shook his head. "We shall worry about that later then." He waved his men forward. "Subdue the druid and the shaman, destroy the demon."

The guards spread out, the priests arraying themselves behind Zion, with the single mage standing to his left. Zion set his feet and leveled his staff at the naga-like demon, a scowl on his face.

Sevei had backed up all the way to her and handed up Saliea like a child would hand an adult a broken toy. The druid still twitched and struggled silently; the demon cradled her almost tenderly, running a taloned hand through Sal's pony tail. She transferred the druid from her lower arms to the middle pair, clasping her lowest pair across her waist and continuing to pet Saliea with her upper ones.

"Ssso cruel, to hurt a friend like thisss. But it issss all right, I ssshall make it better." The demon stroked the druid's face, and instantly it lost the terrified look and went as blank as Sevei's was; the creature hugged the elf to her tenderly, a forked tongue flicking out from between her lips. "But I sssssensssed weaknessssss. There issss no room for that here. You mussssst kill or be killed. I sssshall leave no alternative."

"We will not kill our friends, foul creature," Zion said evenly. "You will find you must find another tactic."

The demon smirked, and raised Saliea like a rag doll in her hands. "Will I? I think not. I think I will force you to sssssurrender long before that." Her grin became toothy, and Mikael had to dive on top of Tebrion to keep the night elf from throwing himself at her as she reared her head back and struck once, twice, three times, leaving bloody gaping holes in Saliea's shoulder and upper chest.

"You get away from her!" Tebrion roared, struggling under the warlock.

"Tebrion stop! That's what she wants to see!" Mikael shouted, finally shoving the elf's face into the muddy water. When the priest ceased moving, Mikael cautiously let him raise his head; the elf spat a mouthful of brown muck out and looked helplessly at where Saliea lay bleeding in the demon's arms.

She clapped her topmost pair of hands together, hissing excitedly. "Indeed!" she crowed, her lowest hands working a spell.

"Move!" Zion shouted and the group scattered, the shadow priest dragging Tebrion by a handful of robes as he dove aside. The ground they had been standing on moments before came alive with grasping, gasping creatures - more of the murloc-things that turned and pursued them. Mikael slashed at the lead one, severing it in two and grimacing as it simply reformed itself.

"Freeze them!" he shouted, letting loose with a blast of shadowy power.

The mage obliged, releasing a wide blast of icy air that hit the creatures and started to solidify them; she cast again and they became living statues. Mikael shattered two near him and saw they didn't reform.

"Continue casting your magic, Wanali," Zion ordered. "The rest of you advance on the demon and do your best to subdue her captives." He swung his arm, chanting holy words with the priests joining him; holy blessings began to ring the demon, burning at her flesh where they contacted.

The demon briefly sniffed, dispelling the holy magic with a flick of her tongue. "Break my toysssss will you?" she growled, raising herself higher on her tail. The water rippled, whipping up a sizable wave that she flung out of the lake and into the first wave of attacking guards; the guards found themselves chest-deep in water and sinking, as the demon simultaneously attacked the ground beneath their feet as well. When the water had rushed by, they clambered out of the mud and skidded to a halt when Sevei stepped solidly in front of them.

The shaman wasn't there for long, as the tip of the demon's tail swung around and wrapped snugly about his hips, lifting him from his feet and away from the others, pulling him toward her. "And a kisssss for the sssshaman asss well," she chuckled, sinking fangs into Sevei's neck once he was within reach.

"I will see you burning in every hell there is, beast," Mikael snapped, casting and aiming his spell at her coiled lower body. It hit the ground and exploded, drawing a screech of pain from the demon and knocking her off-balance; the guards rushed forward, one sinking a sword deep into her side while another hacked at the length of tail that held Sevei suspended above the ground.

She swung a hand, batting aside one of them and rolling her tail to trap the other beneath her; Mikael took aim again and squarely hit the sword in her side, driving it in up to the hilt. She shrieked in pain and turned angry eyes on the warlock.

"You will pay for that, you will pay for that dearly," she snapped, grasping Sevei around the neck as she unwound her tail from him and used it to sweep aside the guards. She tossed both the shaman and the druid over her shoulder, far out over the lake.

"She's armored, aim for that sword," Mikael snapped, brandishing his as he ran forward recklessly.

As she swung to meet his charge, the priests surrounded the weapon in the demon's side with holy magics, and Zion hit it squarely with a golden blast of pure light. The demon spasmed, hands reaching to pull the offending blessed blade free from her, and Mikael took that instant to leap forward and sever one of her lowermost hands. As her black blood rained in smoking droplets around him, Mikael summoned up a wave of scorching fire; a golden shield blossomed into being around him as the flames exploded outward and up the demon's chest. Mikael waved a hand at Tebrion, recognizing the shield, and ducked low as the five remaining hands all clawed at him.

The nearly-severed tail tip, however, caught him in the gut and sent him skipping across the ground to land in a heap at Zion's feet; the magical shield from Tebrion had absorbed the damage and pain, and Mikael allowed the draenei to yank him to his feet.

"I'm going after Saliea and Sevei," he said in a rush; the draenei nodded, then took a deep breath.

"Then I shall take your place," he said evenly.

Mikael felt the gathering of shadow energy moments before Zion became engulfed in it; the warlock stepped back as the shadow priest stepped forward, twin balls of shadow forming in each hand.

"Go warlock."

Mikael nodded and sprinted away, to the left and away from that grasping tail; he heard Zion's confident chanting, wondered what it was like to see a shadow priest on the battlefield, but there were more pressing matters to attend to.

He reached the shore and didn't hesitate, throwing himself forward into the water, sheathing his sword in one movement and casting a spell on himself quickly afterward. He felt the sting at his neck, the indication the spell had worked, then Mikael began to swim as best he could out toward the center of the lake. Terror was beginning to grow in his stomach; he wasn't sure why the demon had tossed the two away. Was he swimming out into a trap, where the two mind-controlled friends waited? Had she thrown them out to die? Were they aware and able to keep themselves from drowning in the state they were in? He wasn't sure, but the not-knowing made him swim fast enough that he was creating a stitch in his side...one he really hoped was from the swimming, and not something else.

Breathing labored, limbs aching, Mikael raised his head from the water and groaned. He was now out in the middle of the lake, and he had found Sevei and Saliea; the two were on a hovering platform of shimmering, enchanted water, about a foot above the actual lake's surface. They sat back to back, slumped senseless against one another, blood still seeping from their bite wounds. Sal looked deathly pale, but what worried the warlock the most was that they sat in a circle of power.

The water beneath them glowed with bright blue runes, pulling in magical power from the world around them; Mikael could feel it tugging at his own magical energies, but he stubbornly erected a mental shield against it. Oddly, Sevei and Saliea alone seemed immune to the draining effect, but then again they weren't there to provide it with magic, they were there to provide it with blood.

Mikael swam up and grasped the edge of the circle, hauling himself out of the water and rolling until he bumped against Sevei's feet. He kicked at a rune, remembering how simply someone had stopped the previous circle, but the rune simply reformed like...water.

"Damn it all to hell," he growled, his free hand fumbling at his waistline. He tugged from an inner pocket a small flask and unscrewed the lid, a faint red glow issuing from the open container. Crouching he pulled Saliea into his lap, letting Sevei slump senseless to his back, and lifted the flask to Sal's lips.

"Warlock!"

A faint cry from the general direction of the shore made him turn, in time to see the arcing form of the demon rushing for him.

"Ah hell," he muttered, shoving Sal away and standing to meet the charge. The demon hit him in the chest, her face right in his and her fangs snapping for his neck; Mikael and the demon together toppled off the floating water disk and disappeared under the murky water, the flask flying from the warlock's grasp and landing on the prone form of the shaman, dumping its contents down his chest and neck.

Underwater, Mikael was glad he'd had the foresight to cast an underwater breathing spell on himself beforehand, for he definitely wouldn't have time for it now. His world had quickly turned into a life-or-death struggle against strangling hands and deadly fangs; another of her hands fell prey to Mikael's weapon, and she thrust him away with a garbled snarl. Mikael floundered in the water, managing to get himself turned upright and starting to swim away as fast as he could propel himself. Something dark lashed past his head, and he turned and instinctively shot several bolts of shadows behind him, not aiming to harm only to buy himself some time to think. He was certainly at her mercy while he was in the water, and he knew he'd never make it to shore before she had ample chances to kill him.

Something seized his ankle, and he turned to see a dark shape rushing for him. A wide, gaping jaw as speeding toward him even as he was hauled backward. He readied a spell and swore.

* * *

Darkness was receding. Rational thought was returning. The orange fog he'd been trapped in was going away, and Sevei swam up back into consciousness.

The first thing he noted was his neck burned with incredible pain, and that pain itself was radiating outward from that same area. Weakly he raised a hand and found the puncture wounds in his neck, and at first was amazed that he wasn't dead. His fingers pulled away, smeared with the blue of his blood and a red substance that he couldn't immediately identify; his gaze found the flask sitting on his chest, now half-empty, and he understood that the red was an alchemical concoction of healing, a rare creation. He grabbed the flask and struggled to sit up, a weight across his legs making the task difficult.

He nearly choked when he saw the weight was Saliea, deathly pale and hardly breathing. She bore puncture marks down her shoulder, and Sevei scooped her up into his lap and shook what remained in the flask.

"Please be enough," he whispered, forcing her mouth open and tipping her head back to force her to swallow. At first she weakly sputtered, almost choking, but within a few moments she was sipping the restorative liquid. When Sevei had emptied the potion into her, and was working on closing her wounds with the little magic he possessed, her eyes fluttered open.

"S-sevei?"

He put a finger to her lips. "Save your strength." Her wounds had more or less closed - they were no longer bleeding, which is what Sevei had mainly intended - and then he began to work on cleansing what could only be poison from her system. His neck still burned, but the druid had more injuries, and thus more poison, than he did; she was his first priority right now, and he could see her color improving as he worked over her.

One of her hands, trembling, reached up and lightly touched the punctures in his neck, and Sevei felt a comforting warmth spread from that area and down his shoulders.

Despite himself, he smiled. "I said save your strength."

"I am. I saved it for you."

He swallowed hard, then helped her into a sitting position. "Can you walk?"

Sal looked around as she sat up, shaking her head. "I think the question is, can we swim?"

"It won't be a problem, trust me. Can you walk?"

"I believe so."

Sevei stood, swaying slightly, lightheaded no doubt from the blood he'd lost; he looked down at Saliea again, and at the blood covering her - some of it hers, some his - and knew that if he was feeling the effects of his injuries, she certainly would not be in any condition to walk.

Sevei gathered his thoughts, looking at the circle they were floating on top of. The wrongness immediately assaulted him - they were standing atop an imprisoned water spirit. The elemental cried out to him for release, for assistance, and he was all too happy to oblige. He bent down, touching his forehead to the center of the circle, feeling how the magic worked; as he and Saliea had laid here and slowly died from the venom coursing through their veins, the circle fed off their blood and pain, and was also drawing magic from any nearby source, including those fighting on the lake shore - Sevei could feel their life forces - and-

"Mikael was here," he murmured, recognizing the warlock's distinct presence. The water beneath him told him of the demon's attack, and the disappearance of the human, but couldn't tell him where; the elemental was confused, in pain, and clearly suffering.

Sevei felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Saliea looking at him in concern.

"Mikael was here?" she repeated, brow furrowing.

Sevei nodded. "I begin to see where the healing potion came from. I cannot tell where he went however."

"Let's just get out of here," she said quietly. "We'll be of more help to them if we're not trapped here."

He nodded and got to his knees. "I think I know how to release the circle. Give me your hand."

She did so, allowing him to pull her to her feet as he stood; she blushed when she fell against him, her legs refusing to hold her up. He smiled faintly and scooped her up, supporting her in the crook of one arm as his other hand reached for a small pouch on his belt. In it were his totems, his 'holy symbols' as they were; he removed the totem representing water and held it high, concentrating.

He felt the elemental below their feet react, and he tugged at it, urging it to break free of the magical bonds holding it in place. Using the totem as a focus, he and the water spirit finally tore apart the wards holding the circle in place, and the magic shattered like glass. Sevei felt Saliea grasp at him as they dropped toward the water, but instead of plunging in Sevei landed on the surface lightly, the water rippling under his feet but otherwise proving quite solid. Sal craned her neck, looking down at the water.

"That's...an interesting skill," she said, looking faintly amazed.

Sevei turned and began to run the best he could toward shore. "Yes, but the spell doesn't have a long duration when the caster is tired." He picked up his pace, ignoring the exhaustion in his body; when they reached the shore they saw the group of draenei and Tebrion occupied with fending off the same creatures that had ensnared the shaman and druid; Sevei gestured and, with the aid of the water elemental he had just freed, summoned a wall of water that washed the demonic creatures away, the water flowing around the draenei defenders as though they weren't there.

Tebrion came rushing up, and Sevei deposition Saliea into the priest's arms. "The warlock? Where is he?"

"He went out to find you and...by Elune..." the priest breathed, eyes widening. "You mean you haven't seen him?"

Zion looked alarmed as he hurried up to them; the priest was still a ghostly shade of himself, engulfed as he was in shadowy magic. "The demon followed the warlock out into the water...this does not bode well for the human." He looked at them, expression grim. "We were unable to follow him - we were immediately beset by these mud creatures and prevented from reaching the water."

Tebrion bent to the task of healing Saliea and Sevei fully, and when he had finished Sal shoved her way out of his arms. "We must help him."

Sevei had pulled a vial from his belt, a tiny thing full of a clear liquid. He popped the cork in the top free and poured a small amount of it into his hand; he fluttered his fingers at them all, spattered them with tiny droplets of the stuff. It smelled strongly of fish, and he was certain that the liquid landed on everyone.

"Come," he ordered, striding quickly back toward the lake.

Sevei stepped onto the water, the surface now solid under his feet once more. Saliea followed at his elbow, Tebrion close on her heels with the remainder of the defenders close behind him. They all stepped together onto the water and hurried off toward the center of the lake.

Sevei had determined they were close to where the circle of power had once been when the lake before them exploded upward, and the demon appeared.

She tossed her head back and laughed, a high, insane sound. She was down to four of her six hands, one arm which was hanging limp at her side. One other was hidden behind her, the other two writhing madly over and over before her stomach. A gaping gash lined her face, turning her left eye into a puddle of formless jelly.

"You think you can defeat me?" she crowed, touching a hand to her ruined eye. "I am Ssssereventra. I am immortal! You think you've won just because you shattered my ritual? It can be redone, and your blood shall anoint my circle!" She pulled her hands into view and there, grasped by his cloak and hanging motionless, was Mikael.

His chest was a mass of punctures and one large, nasty bite - like she'd tried to bite him in half. Gashes covered arms and legs, and he had a matching bite mark just above his right knee.

Saliea was staring open-mouthed at him, and she heard Zion behind her mutter a prayer. Sereventra swung the warlock around and released him, sending him tumbling end over end into the water near the shoreline where he sank from sight. The druid was moving before he'd even hit the water, her elven form melting away into something lighter and sleeker; she dove into the water and sped off as the water walking spell on her dissolved along with her natural form.

She found Mikael not by sight but by the smell of his blood in the water. When she'd swam up to him she let her sea lion form fall away and cradled the warlock in her arms.

"Mikael. Mikael," she whispered, holding a hand to his chest and her ear near his mouth. He was breathing raggedly, he was still alive. Sal began to carefully swim with him toward shore; out of the corner of her eye she saw Zion and two priests running on an intercept course with her. Her feet were just touching the bottom when they met up with her and bent to seize the badly injured human.

"Careful," she panted, feeling the exhaustion in her limbs now more than ever as fear for Mikael's life compounded the stress she was under. She slid her arms under Mikael's limp body, one on each side of the enormous jagged bite mark, and helped the priests gently float him into the shallow water near shore.

"Don't pull him out of the water, he needs the support right now," Zion ordered. His shadowy form dissipated as the draenei knelt, positioning himself at the warlock's middle.

The bite mark itself ran diagonal across Mikael's abdomen, starting just below his ribcage on the left side and ending at his right hip; it was deep, jagged, and Sal could see bare muscle, with a thin strip of untouched skin on the sides where the teeth hadn't torn into him. Her fingers could tell his back wasn't any better off than his front, and she was careful not to tear the injury further.

"How did he survive this..." one priest muttered in quiet amazement as he too knelt and began to direct his healing magic into the bite. Saliea applied what little magic she had left to where her fingers contacted the edge in the back, feeling the skin slowly pulling together. She sent in a poison abolishing spell too, remembering the venom she and Sevei had cleansed from each other. As the warlock's body began to knit itself back together, she began to breathe a bit easier.

"He will live through this," Zion said. "I don't know how he managed to survive it, but he will live." His eyes were glowing a soft gold, with a blue glyph floating before his forehead as he called on the powers of the Light. The priest not kneeling motioned for Saliea to move away, and she took the druid's place supporting Mikael, adding her healing to that of Zion and the other.

Sal had moved down toward Mikael's feet, and saw that the knee was broken cleanly, and the bite was not as bad as the one across his abdomen. She quickly set the knee and held it in place, watching as glowing waves of healing magic directed by the draenei priests slowly but surely knit her friend back together.

* * *

Sevei wordlessly watched Mikael tumble through the air, wordlessly watched Saliea run after him, and turned emotionless eyes on the demon.

She still laughed, her mouth suddenly impossibly wide and very snake-like. "Doesssss the ssssshaman wisssh to play?"

Silently he drew his axes from his belt, flipping one over and over idly in his hand. Slowly, he began to stalk toward the demon. A few steps, then he turned and motioned for Tebrion, the remaining priest and the guards to remain where they were. Tebrion waited until he had turned and started off again before taking a few steps himself. He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder; the priest looked at the guard angrily.

The guard simply shook his head. "If he wishes you to stay back, best you should."

"Saliea will kill me if I let anything happen to him," he said, pulling free. The guard simply grabbed his arm again and yanked him back.

"I have seen shaman like this...watch and you will see."

Tebrion growled and returned his gaze to Sevei, and then jerked back in surprise.

In the short time it had taken to argue with the guard restraining him, Sevei had walked nearly all the way to the demon, nearly stood at where her tail coiled. And he was glowing.

A faint red aura surrounded him, flickering like fire. The draenei blinked slowly, and his axes flared into flames; he pointed his weapons at the demon, a grim expression finally overtaking his blank features.

"You will die," he said simply.

Totems exploded into life around him and he charged with such speed that at first Tebrion wasn't sure where he'd gone. The shaman had leapt forward, axes flashing, arching for the demon's midsection.

She recoiled in surprise and swatted off-balance, managing to be on target enough to force the shaman to dodge, but he seemed to turn in midair and strike at her again, sinking an axe deep into the shoulder of her top pair of arms.

Seraventra howled, slashing with hooked fingers that caught Sevei before he had landed solidly. They sliced into his chest, ripping chainmail apart but, with lightning-quick reflexes, Sevei bent his body like a taut bow and remained unharmed. He sprang away, tugging at his ruined chainmail with one hand, the other twirling his axe. He threw the weapon in one smooth motion even as he tore his armor off; the axe spun end over end and slammed into the arm he had injured seconds before, severing it completely.

The demon whipped around, the full length of her tail arching in, an unavoidable blow. Sevei set his feet and body to withstand the brunt of it when - to his surprise, and that of everyone else observing - a geyser opened beneath him and blasted upward and out with enough force to send Seraventra toppling backward into the lake. When the water had cleared away Sevei saw the water elemental he had freed standing with him.

It nodded to him, then sank into the lake. Sevei smiled grimly, then hefted his remaining weapon and rushed the demon as she rose up out of the water. His blade bit into the crease between neck and shoulder this time, and he rolled up and over her as hands tore at his legs. He cut himself on one of her spines, but ignored it and tore his axe free, flipping it around and beginning to hack at the armor at the back of her neck. She snarled and craned her neck to see over her shoulder, and managed to get a hand wrapped around his waist.

Seeing the draenei ensnared, the priest standing with Tebrion and the guards stepped forward. "Now is our chance, go!"

Tebrion ran forward with the rest of them, tossing holy blessings alongside the draenei priest as the guards began to slash at her unprotected front.

Seraventra hesitated a split second, undecided as to whether kill the shaman she held or those attacking her stomach and front. Sevei crunched his axe into her elbow during that moment of indecision, and she screeched and threw him, then rose up on her tail.

"I will crusssssh you all!" she shrieked, beginning to swing her tail around.

Sevei righted himself in the air and threw his axe, praying to the wind to let it fly true. It was a mighty throw - Sevei put all of his strength behind it, snapping his body like a whip to give it the most momentum he could summon. The axe seemed to fly through the air in slow motion; Sevei hit the water and submerged, his spell gone, and felt himself heaved to the surface by helpful hands. When his head came above water again, he had just enough precious time left to look toward the demon and see his blow land.

Just as Sevei's spell had worn off, so had that of the rest of the defenders. Even as the tail came sweeping around, they all together dropped under the water, the blow flying harmlessly by overhead. Thrown off-balance by the force of the swing, Seraventra could only look on as the blade slammed into her at the temple, sinking in to the shaft, cutting through flesh like a knife through cheese.

Seraventra was not, in fact, immortal as she'd claimed.

Sevei felt his rage leave him as he watched the lifeless body sink beneath the surface, and his exhaustion set in rapidly. He would had slid under himself were it not for the fact that the water spirit he had helped was now actively keeping him afloat.

"_Others shall know of your actions this day," _ he heard it whisper, its voice watery and otherworldly.

"Thank you...for helping me," he replied wearily, his own voice barely more than a whisper.

"_No, thank you."_

It began to carry him toward shore, directing waves to push at the backs of the others swimming to assist them as well. The spirit carried him all the way to the shallow water, then sank out of sight beneath the surface, leaving Sevei to drag himself out of the water.

* * *

"He still sleeps," the priest - Saliea had finally learned his name was Verex - said apologetically. "You may sit with him if you wish, but he is still deeply asleep."

"Tebrion remains with him?" she asked, patting Verex's arm.

He nodded. "He and Zion remain by his side, so he will be tended should some unforeseen problem arise, and so he will also be among friends when he awakes."

"Could you find me, when he wakes up?" she went on.

"Of course," he smiled, bowing slightly. "It would be my honor."

She returned the smile and walked away, back toward the little room that had been offered to her as a place of rest. Their small inn was currently housing Mikael - Sal couldn't help but feel a bubble of fear in her gut still, despite being told repeatedly that the human would survive his injuries - and Tebrion was staying with him.

She didn't recall much of the return to Telredor, only of the guards and one of the priests essentially carrying her back to the city. Mikael had been brought in carefully on a makeshift stretcher of a guard's cloak, held at the corners and supported in the middle by the draenei. Most of her recollection began when she woke up in the small room, mostly dry and wrapped in a warm blanket with Verex administering to her injuries. When he was finished he had excused himself, saying he would now assist though in caring for Mikael, and asked her to rest until she felt able to walk.

"There will be others in to check on you," he assured her. "Rest and be well."

She hadn't argued, falling back asleep almost immediately. She slept the remainder of the day and mostly through the following morning. When she had finally stirred from the comfortable cot she lay on, she found the female priestess that had helped support Mikael in the lake sitting by her bedside with a tray of fruit and a mug of water.

"Light food for you for now," she said. "Dinners here tend to be heavy, you will eat well this evening."

After Sal had eaten the priestess showed her to where the druid could clean herself up some, and had also kindly lent her clothing.

"How long have you been in these?" she had chuckled, holding up the threadbare and tattered remnants of Sal's undergarments.

Sal smiled in embarrassment. "Far too long, to be perfectly honest. Is there someone I could commission for new clothing here?"

The priestess had nodded, disappearing from the room while Sal bathed, then returning a short while later with another female and a spare robe for the druid. Sal had let the female measure her, then paid the draenei - with money swiped from Tebrion's coinpurse - for two sets of underclothes, slightly more padded than normal for wear under her armor.

"They shall be ready by nightfall," the tailor had said with a smile, bowing as she left.

The priestess too had gone off to attend to those keeping watch over Mikael, and so Sal had finished her bath and dressed. The robe was of a soft material, a deep bronze color, and was long enough on her that Sal suspected this was a tunic top and not a robe - it only seemed to be so long due to Sal's height.

She cinched the belt tighter around her waist; the druid was barefoot, but as the draenei were all hooved, the grounds of the city were kept rather clean and she didn't mind going about without boots on - she WAS a druid after all. The stone was cool against the soles of her feet, and the afternoon air was heavy with the scent of approaching rain.

Tilting her head back Sal breathed in deeply, wondering if Sevei could sense the oncoming storm-

Thinking of him was a mistake. All of the carefully held back wonderings and self-doubts came crashing back into the front of her thoughts like water from a broken dam. She actually stumbled slightly, looking around furtively to make sure no one had noticed her, then she scurried down the walkway and into the safety of the little room she was sleeping in.

She tossed herself onto her cot, knotting her fingers into her hair with an agitated growl. Unspoken and half-formed things to say to him beat at her, but foremost was fear and anxiety. The speed with which she had fallen head over heels for the draenei made her question her true feelings, but neither could she deny that she felt this way toward the male. Perhaps it truly was a momentary infatuation, but how would she know unless she investigated it? And that would require approaching him, figuring out where his feelings toward her felt...and therein was the fear.

Did he care for her beyond just a friend? She knew little about draenei, after all - perhaps they all were this caring. Verex and the priestess had definitely shown an amazing depth of compassion, but they were priests, that was second nature to them. There was that voice of hope in her mind that said otherwise, but the voice of negativity was just as loudly proclaiming that he was simply being a friend. Sal knew which she wanted to believe, but fear rose in her stomach again.

She too thought about her brief argument with Tebrion. Her brother was a kind man, average looking by night elf standards, yet his pain over loving and losing Bylana had caused him to miss other opportunities for companionship. His warning to her about the risk and the pain had been made out of brotherly concern, but she was beginning to see a true danger in what he said. She and Sevei were currently hunting demons, they had both nearly died...would she be able to handle the hurt if Sevei died? How would he respond emotionally if it was she who was killed? Tebrion had, for the first few years, been depressed and inconsolable over Bylana's death...what sort of pain had he known during that time?

Sal extricated her hands from her hair, letting her face fall forward into her thin pillow. Too many questions, too many 'what ifs' running through her mind.

"I shall never know unless I ask..." she said quietly into the pillow.

A knock on her door made her jump. She pushed herself up and onto her side, rolling to sit up. "It is open."

Sevei's head poked in, and Saliea felt her heart leap into her throat. The shaman's hair was down, falling over his shoulders in a tangle, and he was clad in an off-white tunic and pants, no sign at all of his mail armor - granted, he had lost the remnants of his chestpiece somewhere in the lake.

She smiled up at him. "You can come in, you know."

He cleared his throat. "I came to see how you felt. Are you well?"

'If only you knew,' she thought to herself. "I feel better now that I have slept some. And you?"

He stepped in, carefully leaning a cloth-wrapped bundle against the wall just within the door frame. "I returned to the lake just now. The water spirit I helped was kind enough to assist me in locating my lost weapon, Mikael's as well."

"I imagine he'll be relieved," she said, tucking a leg under herself, aware that she was barely dressed...and that hardly helped the turmoil in her mind. Clearing her throat, she shook her head and stared at her bare foot on the floor a moment, before returning her gaze to him with a smile. "He seems quite attached to it."

He nodded and took a few more steps into the room, and to Saliea's thoughts, he looked uncertain.

'He looks like my mind feels,' she thought with the barest hint of amusement. She tilted her head to the head as she studied him. "...something on your mind?"

"...yes," he said, sighing heavily but still smiling all the same. He finally came in all the way into the room, perching on the edge of the cot by her. When he remained silent, Sal lightly nudged him with her shoulder.

He shook his head. "It's just...heh," he said quietly. "I was...more terrified yesterday than I believe I have ever been in my life. I..." He shook his head again and looked at her. "I can't believe that you came so close to death, and it's my fault."

"Your fault? How so?" she asked in surprise.

"It is my fault you are even in Outland. My fault I was open to attack on the lake shore...my fault you nearly died."

"Sevei..." She shifted on the bed to face him, one hand half-raised to lay it on his shoulder. "Sevei, don't blame yourself for that. Everything, all of this, has been my choice. Don't you dare blame yourself."

He chuckled quietly and looked at her. "I wish you had run when I told you to. That is when I felt the demon reaching out to ensnare my mind."

She laid her hand on his shoulder, her fingers a gentle pressure where they lay. "I wasn't about to leave you there, Sevei. I am with you to the end."

His smile was a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude. "I will be unable to live with myself if something should happen to you."

She leaned close, nudging him with her shoulder again. "I am with you to the end."

He nudged her back, laughing. "I am..."

"You are?"

He winked at her. "I am."

"Oh, come on," she laughed. "Finish your sentence."

He mimed zipping his lips shut, and she playfully swatted him. They fell into a comfortable silence, and with his proximity to her, Saliea found her thoughts quickly returning to her previous contemplations.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Sevei stood, her hand falling from his shoulder. "I will...leave you to your rest."

Her heart lurched as she watched him stride toward the door. 'You will never know unless...unless you take the risk.'

"I...Sevei, wait."

He paused at the door, his hand on the doorknob. "Yes?"

She closed her eyes, swallowing her sudden surge of anxiety. "If...when you are trying to make a decision, a difficult choice, how do you go about it?"

He blinked at her. "A difficult choice? Well..." he said slowly, trailing off as his expression became thoughtful. "Well...I suppose...I would do whatever felt most right to me."

"Whatever...felt most right," she repeated, getting to her feet. "Then...I suppose I must do what feels right." She felt herself trembling as she crossed the space between herself and the draenei in a few steps. Her shaking was apparent as she looked up at him; he was looking at her, an expression of surprise making its way slowly across his face as she rose up on tiptoe. She leaned in the last few inches, sliding her hands up to seize Sevei by the collar and tug him down even as she strained upward. There was a single, painful second of anticipation, then she pressed her lips to his.

For a second she felt him stiffed in surprise, and a sickening bubble of fear formed in her stomach. But then...then she felt the draenei respond, felt his arms encircle her waist and tug her closer against him.

It was Sevei who broke the kiss, pulling back just slightly, his mouth hovering over hers.

"Did...that feel right to you?" she whispered.

She felt more than saw him nod. "Very." He leaned in for another kiss and left her to pull away this time. When she did, she pressed close in a hug, breathing in deeply as she pressed her cheek to his chest. His arms around her tightened, lifting her from the floor.

"So...what now?" she asked, face still pressed to him.

"You know..." he said after a moment of silence. "My father once told me...that love was the grandest adventure any one person could ever have."

"Then, shall we see where this adventure leads us?" Sal whispered, turning her face up toward him.

He ran a finger down her jawline, lifting her chin gently. "I am with you to the end," he said softly.

* * *

Tebrion hardly looked up when the door opened and Verex entered, carrying a bundle in his hands. Zion motioned for him to put it down then impatiently shooed the other draenei out of the room before seating himself in the empty chair opposite of the night elf, with the bed holding Mikael between them.

"You know, he will not expire if you take your rest," the other priest said.

Tebrion shook his head, clearing his throat before speaking. "I'm fine for now," he said, his voice heavy with obvious exhaustion.

Zion studied him, eyes going from the slow rise and fall of the warlock's chest up to the figure of the haggard elf. "He will be fine. You don't need to tire yourself. I will watch over him while you sleep."

Again Tebrion shook his head. "I tell you, I am fine."

"You are about to fall out of your chair."

Tebrion smiled faintly. "I will be fine until nightfall."

Zion chuckled. "It is nightfall now. The others are going to their evening meal."

The night elf's eyes widened in surprise. "Has it been that long all ready?"

The other simply nodded, then gestured toward the bundle Verex had carried in. "The shaman returned to the lake and retrieved the warlock's sword. It is quite a marvelous weapon."

Tebrion stood, going to the bundle and pulling away the cloth wrapping, revealing the soft red glow of the blade. "He seems quite attached to it. He will no doubt be relieved to know he hasn't lost it." He studied the blade, unwrapping to the hilt and admiring the fine metalwork. A smear of black near the base of the blade caught his eye, and he squinted and rubbed at it, expecting it to be residual gunk from the lake water. When it didn't rub away, he ground a hand into his eyes to clear his vision a tad then looked again.

"Spellcleaver," he whispered finally.

"What?" Zion asked from where he sat at Mikael's side.

Tebrion offered the sword to the draenei hilt-first. "This here, near the base. Those are runes, written in ancient language. Most believe this language was the beginning of that which is known as Darnassian today...most of the old prayers and tomes are still written in these runes, usually just referred to as 'elven.' This spells out Spellcleaver."

Zion looked at it, running a finger over the ornately scripted - but very tiny - runes. "Think that is the name of this weapon?"

"I can't think of any other explanation. I wonder who Mikael knows, that knows the old language." Tebrion took the sword back from the priest and wrapped it in the cloth once again, then carefully leaned it against the wall before returning to his chair.

Zion was looking at him. "You really should rest."

Tebrion nodded. "Most likely, but I will keep an eye on Mikael until I can remain awake no longer...I imagine Saliea will never forgive me should something unexpected happen."

Zion chuckled. "I assure you I am perfectly capable of watching over the warlock until morning. I am also capable of forcibly removing you from the room if you refuse to recover your strength."

The night elf joined the draenei in laughter. "Very well, very well." He stood, looking down at Mikael as he did so...and pausing, head tilting as he studied him. He could almost swear the warlock's lips were moving. The elf bent down, leaning closer and seeing that Mikael's mouth was indeed moving.

"What is it?" Zion asked, then fell silent as Tebrion held up a hand.

He leaned down to place his ear right above the human's face and listened to what was little more than a whisper...and his eyes widened.

"What is it?" Zion asked again.

Tebrion looked up at him, surprise written across his features. "...prayer. To the Light."


	16. Chapter 16

When he awoke, he was at first confused. There was no altar, his father was nowhere to be seen. No cathedral, only a plain ceiling above his head...the prayer in his ears was gone, replaced by silence.

After a moment his brain made an effort to make sense of where he was. He was laying flat on his back in a soft bed, with the gentle weight of a light blanket pulled partly up his chest. Slowly his senses began to communicate clearly to him; his stomach and leg ached, his chest was tight, then -

Fear. Crushing fear hit him. Saliea. Where was Saliea? The demon?

Mikael struggled to sit up, only to have someone gently shove him flat. He looked up into the calm eyes of Tebrion, mouth moving but at first forming no words.

"S-sal is -"

"Sal is fine," the priest said quietly. "Don't try sitting up just yet."

Mikael remained still, but let his eyes roam. "And Sevei?"

"Also fine. I believe they are both still asleep."

"Where am I? The demon...?"

"Sevei destroyed it. All is well. We are back in Telredor. You are in the inn, and have been sleeping for the last two days."

Silence fell at the night elf's words, broken only by thunder that shook the room. Mikael was slowly starting to make sense of all the sensory information his body was sending him, now that he knew Saliea lived. He inched a hand with some difficulty - his limbs felt like they were made of lead - up to his midsection and felt the thick bandage wrapped snugly around him. Tebrion was watching his every movement.

"You were nearly bitten in half," he commented. "Zion and Saliea had to be very careful with you at first."

Mikael craned his neck to look at the elf, who now sat in a nearby chair. "I surely saw my own death in that lake...what happened?"

"As Sevei tells me, he was revived partly by a potion that got dumped on him. He used the remainder of it to revive Saliea, then they patched one another up and rejoined us on shore. Shortly afterward Sereventra reappeared with you...you were in bad shape. Saliea, Zion and another priest - whose name I'm afraid I can't recall - went to save you while Sevei and the rest of us took care of the demon. Her carcass is on the bottom of the lake."

Mikael nodded, then a new fear took hold. "My sword-"

"Sevei retrieved it," Tebrion interrupted with a smile, nodding toward the door. Mikael followed the gesture and looked, and saw with relief that a cloth-wrapped bundle of the correct size and shape leaned against the wall.

"Thank the gods..." he breathed, letting his head fall back to the pillow weakly.

Tebrion studied the warlock, a hand rubbing his chin. "...I looked at your sword, Mikael. Who is it you know that knows the old language?"

The warlock suddenly looked decidedly uncomfortable, and muttered something under his breath.

"What?" the priest asked, looking puzzled.

"I said...my mother," Mikael whispered, pointedly staring at the ceiling.

The night elf nodded. "Was she a priestess?"

"...enchantress."

"Ah," Tebrion sighed in understanding. "That makes sense. All of the old magic is still written in it." He shifted in his chair, stifling a yawn. "Zion left a short while ago, no doubt he'll return soon with food. Do you feel well enough to eat?"

Mikael shook his head. "I"m more thirsty than anything."

Tebrion stood and went to the other side of the bed, where a small table sat. A pitcher rested on top of it, along with an earthenware mug; Tebrion poured the mug full of water and bent down, sliding an arm behind Mikael's shoulders to help the warlock sit up some. He held the mug to the human's mouth and let Mikael take a few sips.

The water was light on the warlock's dry lips and tongue, and he had to remind himself to sip carefully to avoid making himself ill. When he'd downed some water, he shook his head and Tebrion took it away, setting the mug on the table and lowering Mikael back to the bed.

Another silence fell in the room; Mikael felt himself growing drowsy again, and so wasn't paying much attention to Tebrion. The priest, in turn, appeared to be deep in thought, his eyes on his hands in his lap, having returned to his seat by the bedside.

"I...Mikael," he said finally, eyes still in his lap. "May I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead," Mikael replied, voice thick with sleep. It was getting difficult to keep his eyes open, and he hated feeling so weak, even though he understood that he came very near to death. He longed to sit up, go outside and sit beside Saliea, tell her he was okay.

Another shuddering blast of thunder shook the inn before Tebrion finally cleared his throat and looked up at Mikael.

"Mikael...what connection do you have...with the Light?"

All drowsiness was instantly blasted away; Mikael's breath caught in his throat.

"I am certain I know nothing-" he started to say hurriedly, but a sharp gesture from Tebrion made him cut off.

"You were...talking in your sleep," the elf said quietly. "You were reciting what I thought at first was prayer, but when I listened I realized it was something more than that. It sounded to me, like the oath that holy warriors take when they join your Church of the Light and take up the mantle of paladin."

Mikael swallowed hard, staring up at the ceiling. 'Don't ask me...please don't ask me again...please...'

"How is it you know that oath? And what reason would you have to recite it?"

"I...was dreaming. It was a dream. Simple."

Tebrion shook his head. "No one in a simple dream would recall such an intricate speech with such clarity. Not unless...not unless they had a _reason _to know it." He stood, standing over Mikael so the warlock would be forced to look him in the eyes. "Mikael...why?"

"Because..."

Sevei opened his eyes to the muted flicker of lightning that made it through the light curtains that covered the window above the small cot. He had known yesterday that a storm was coming, and its fury wasn't a surprise to him; thunder shook the walls, and he wondered that it didn't wake the sleeping druid cradled against him.

He had one arm resting beneath his own head, and one arm tucked around Saliea, pulling her in against the curve of his body; she had entwined her fingers with his, so her own arm was tucked under his. One of his legs was bent at the knee slightly and casually draped over her hip, and they had a light blanket tossed over both of them.

He hadn't intended to share her bed, he really hadn't. After sharing their first few kisses, they had taken Mikael's sword and delivered it to Verex, asking him to take it to the warlock, then had eaten dinner together before returning to the little room Saliea was staying in. There they had sat together, Sal curled up in the shaman's lap, and had just talked; they talked at length about anything that happened to come to mind, sharing childhood stories and dreams, Sevei speaking at length on memories of Outland before it had been shattered by the orcs, when it had simply been Draenor and his home, memories his parents had instilled in him of Draenor before his time and of the stories of their elders and the worlds the draenei had traversed. When night had finally fallen, and they were both yawning frequently, Sevei had intended to leave...but Saliea had simply pulled him down on the cot beside her.

"...stay with me?" she'd asked. He didn't refuse.

Her hair was loose and fell over her bare shoulder, the tunic she'd worn to bed having partially slipped down her small frame. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply, lightly brushing a kiss across her shoulder when he found bare skin. His shift forward caused his own hair, also unbound, to slip down over his neck and land like freshly fallen snow against Sal's cheek.

Now she stirred, eyes fluttering open and instantly seeking his face.

"Good morning," he whispered with a smile, nuzzling her neck.

She giggled, reaching up to rest a hand on the back of his neck. "Good morning..." she said, jumping slightly at another crack of thunder. She lightly brushed his hair from her face and craned her neck, giving him a quick peck on the lips before rolling back over and snuggling as close as she could.

"This storm will make flight impossible," she said after several moments of comfortable silence. "And I doubt Mikael will be up for travel yet, if he is even awake today."

Sevei heard the concern in her voice and gently squeezed her fingers in his. "Give him time, my love. He came close to death, he will need time to recuperate."

"I know that," she said with a chuckle. "But I will not stop worrying until he opens his eyes." She abruptly twisted, rolling over so she was nearly nose to nose with him. "Are you not worried about whether the gate in Nagrand has been opened?"

He blew out a sigh, ruffling her hair. "I do worry, yes, but...when we arrived in Hellfire, Honor Hold was completely unprepared. We sent out warnings from there, arrived here and found them ready to seek the danger and destroy it. Garadar, and Telaar, both have had the longest time to prepare themselves against the danger. I am worried yes...but I no longer feel like all will be lost if we are not there. I wouldn't be surprised if the danger has already been removed." He stroked a finger down her cheek. "And...I have a reason now not to blindly rush off into danger."

She planted a kiss on the tip of his nose, drawing a chuckle from the draenei, then pulled away from him and sat up and tugged her tunic back up her shoulders, tightening the belt before standing. She headed to where her backpack sat near the door, her back to Sevei as she pulled out one of the sets of clothing she'd ordered the previous day, smoothing the cloth under her hands.

This set was a deep blue, nearly purple, an exotic color she hadn't been expecting but nonetheless appreciated. It almost seemed too good to wear beneath her armor, but as with all new things, soon it wouldn't be so new. She stood and turned, nearly bumping into Sevei, who had silently gotten up and come to stand behind her. He swept her up into a hug, spinning her around and setting her behind him, winking as he moved for the door.

"I shall see you shortly," he said, quietly opening the door and slipping out.

She smiled at the shut door, a butterfly-fluttering feeling her stomach. Slowly she began to dress, humming happily.

* * *

Sevei too was feeling wonderful; he had never felt this happy in his life, had never known such a level of content and happiness existed. Even the pounding rain on his shoulders didn't dampen his spirit - his clothing, yes, but not his spirit.

The rain was coming down in sheets and quickly soaked him, matting his hair to his head; he had to brush it back over his shoulders to prevent it from obstructing his vision. He meant to retrieve his belongings and armor - what was left of it - and then check in on Mikael, but something caught his eye. Telredor was deserted mostly due to the storm, with only the occasional miserable guard or two patrolling here and there, but there was a single bedraggled figure stumbling through the rain, seemingly right for the shaman.

Sevei stood still, and indeed the figure was coming toward him. He pressed himself against the wall, under the meager shelter the overhang provided, which wasn't much as the wind was blowing the rain horizontally. As the stumbling figure got closer, Sevei could finally tell it was a dwarf, bowed over to shield his face from the worst of the wind and rain. Lightning flashed and glinted off of plate armor, and soon enough the dwarf was pressed up against the wall near the shaman.

"Are ye Sevei o' the Iron Will?" he - it was definitely a male dwarf - shouted over the boom of thunder.

"That's me, yes."

"Thank the Light. The priest Zion tol' me I could find ye in a room somewhere over here," the dwarf went on. He stuck his hand out to the draenei. "Name's Duncan. I'ma friend o' yer parents. They sent me ta find ye and give ye this." The dwarf was digging about his belt with his other hand as Sevei shook the offered one. In a moment or two, the dwarf had retrieved a sealed tube from a pouch and slapped it into Sevei's hand. "Wild storm, innit?"

"Common to this area," Sevei replied, studying the tube. It was a messenger tube, stoppered at one end with a wax seal Sevei recognized as his father's. Sevei stuck it into his waistband with a nod. "It's far too wet to examine it here. Shall we go somewhere a bit drier?"

"More beautiful words I ain't never heard," Duncan said with a loud guffaw. "Lead on, son."

Sevei nodded in the direction of the inn and started off, squinting his eyes against the driving rain. When he reached the door he carefully pushed it open and stepped aside, letting Duncan enter before him. Mikael slept still, Tebrion was turning in his chair to look at them..

Sevei stepped in and shut the door. "Impressive storm," he commented, holding his arms out to his side and watching water drip off him.

"Don't get sick," Tebrion said dryly. He stood and bowed politely to Duncan. "Greetings sir. I am Tebrion."

"I'm Duncan," he replied. Inside and out of the rain, Sevei could see the dwarf clearly; he watched as the dwarf removed a golden-brushed winged helm and began to wring out flame-red hair. The helm matched his plate armor in color, and an overlarge mace hung off the dwarf's back. Unlike any other dwarf Sevei had seen, this one was clean-shaven but had bushy eyebrows that nearly hid the male's bright blue eyes.

"I think...I remember you," the shaman said with a chuckle. "Buckethead?"

Duncan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I see ye parents have spoken of me..."

Everyone laughed at him, and Duncan glared, hunching down in his armor. "Yeh yeh, one o' my nicknames be Buckethead. Thank ye, Savion...planting my boot up his arse when I next see 'im."

"How is my father?" Sevei asked at the mention of Savion.

"Fine son, fine. He's out in Telaar, the Sha'tar having left the defense o' the area to him and yer mother. That message is from him."

Sevei pulled the tube from his waistband and popped the seal, pulling the rolled parchment out and carefully holding it by a corner. "I think I'm a little too wet to read this just yet. Has the...has the gate we've warned about been opened?"

Duncan waved a hand dismissively. "Yeh, but we got it under control. Any demon that shows its ugly mug gets it promptly knocked off. And uh, actually..." Duncan said, rubbing the back of his head and casting a furtive glance at the form of the sleeping warlock. "I'ma supposed to ask if the warlock would know of any way o' shutting that gate. We're holding back anything that's coming through, but we haven't figgered out how to shut the blasted thing."

"Then the...how shall I put this...'master' demon has not shown its face?" Tebrion asked, brow furrowing.

"Master demon?" Duncan repeated. "What ye mean by that?"

Sevei looked grim. "There has been one powerful demon per gate, the one that completes the ritual and opens it. If the one who opened the gate has not been dealt with yet, they may be hidden somewhere in Nagrand, attempting to open more gateways."

Duncan nodded, chewing on his lower lip. "Something I hadn't thought of, but I'm sure your da has, son. Sharp draenei, that one."

Sevei sort of helplessly chuckled. "Indeed. I just hope...I just hope they'll be all right. I wish they had stayed out of harms way."

"What? And let ye have all the fun? Ye obviously don't know ye parents too well."

"No, I know them quite well, and that's what worries me," the shaman said dryly, shaking his head. He looked up at Mikael on the bed, sighing heavily. "Unfortunately, the man who deciphered the messages speaking of the gate problems is laying in that bed recovering from grave injuries. He won't be up for travel for at least another day."

Duncan shrugged. "We'll just have to hold then, and double our efforts at finding that master demon, as ye put it," he said, nodding his head at Tebrion. "We've sent word to A'dal for guidance, but that too will take a day o' so to reach us, and that's if the naaru doesn't have to take time to think o' a solution."

Sevei, his hands and most of him drying out by now, gingerly unrolled the parchment and began to skim the contents; it mostly spoke of what Duncan had already mentioned, and Sevei had to smile when he saw the cramped script of his father interspersed with the elegant flowing handwriting of his mother. They wished him well, sent their love, and bid him to join them in Telaar as soon as he was able and to bring the warlock as well.

He rolled the parchment back up and slid it back into the tube. "Will you be returning promptly? And how did you get here in the first place?" he added, raising an eyebrow.

The dwarf laughed again. "I rode, son! Ain't no storm made yet that frightens me. Just a little wet is all. I said I'd return as soon as I delivered the message, and so that's where I'm headed." He crammed his helm back on his head with a snort. "I'll carry ye message back to ye parents, don't doubt it, and..." he trailed off, casting one last glance at Mikael as he moved toward the door. "And make sure ye bring the lad with ye."

"We will, have no worry," Tebrion said quietly, he too looking at the sleeping human, nearly falling over when he saw the warlock's eyes were open and looking at him.

"Morning," Mikael said groggily, rolling to his side and holding a hand out to the dwarf. "Wait. The gate...has been opened?"

Duncan nodded curtly. "Aye. We're easily holding back everything coming out o' it, but we haven't found a way to shut it just yet. Any ideas?"

Mikael rubbed at his forehead with a hand, squinting between his fingers. "Yes, just...a moment. Let me think." Tebrion offered him a mug of water, which he gratefully took and drank slowly, then cleared his throat. "Sorry...now. Since the ritual has all ready opened the gate, my guess is you need to find the focus and destroy it."

"Focus?"

Mikael nodded at the confused-looking dwarf. "The focus. Once the spell moves outside the circle that formed it, it needs something to channel its energies through. We destroyed the circles here before the focus was formed, so I can't give you any detailed idea of what it may be, but it will be small and likely hidden somewhere near the base of the gate."

Duncan was nodding, lips moving as he repeated it silently to himself. "Focus. Destroy it. Understood. Anything else it might be?"

"Uh...well, it might be the demon itself holding it open. Destroy any overly powerful demons, any that stand out from the rest coming through that gate. I can't give you too much else, as I'm not there myself to examine it."

After a moment to let that sink in, Duncan nodded abruptly and yanked the door open. "Thank ye, I'll hurry back that way, and ye hurry that direction as soon as ye able too." A blast of rain-laden wind blew in the door as the dwarf swept out into the downpour, Sevei closing the door behind him.

"Feeling better, I'm assuming?" Tebrion asked as Mikael rolled back to his back and ran fingers through his matted hair.

"I felt like getting up and talking a walk outside until I saw what outside looked like," the warlock said with a heavy sigh. "I do feel ready to get up though."

"That will be for Zion to decide, not me, but I imagine he'll return soon enough," the priest said with a smile.

Mikael nodded, running hands down his bare chest. Sometime while he was sleeping the bandage around his middle had been removed, and he could feel the tender new skin under his fingertips - soft, but strong. He wasn't going to examine anything beneath his waist with the other two males in the room - even though it had likely been Tebrion helping tend him all this time - but lightly flexing the muscles in his legs told him that the bite and the broken knee were both back in proper working order. He still felt tired, but between slipping in and out of sleep he had overheard the priests theorizing that the demon's venom was what was making him lethargic, as such a great quantity had no doubt been coursing through his veins for a bit before they had retrieved him from the water.

"Tell me we're going to be eating lunch soon?" he asked with a wry grin.

* * *

Donnovan's steps echoed in the empty stone hallway eerily, bouncing back to him from all directions chaotically, much like how his thoughts were bouncing around in his head.

Unknown to Datavian, Donnovan had been spying, spying on the night elf druid and her companions. He had despaired when it seemed she was most certainly dead of Sereventra's venom and her magics, and then he had rejoiced when he saw her alive and well, dragging herself from the lake in a state of exhaustion. He was...so entirely convinced now, he KNEW he knew this druid, and the realization both elated and terrified him.

His thoughts were shattered by the pressing mental summons of Datavian, and Donnovan was careful to bury everything in a deep part of his mind where the human hopefully wouldn't pick up on them, then squared his shoulders and ducked down a side passage off the main hallway he was traversing. The stone beneath his feet immediately began to slope downward, and Donnovan knew that he had to be heading into a wing of the dungeons that sprawled beneath the complex Datavian used as headquarters. Briefly, the night elf wondered why the human was down here, but simply shrugged it off and let his footsteps carry him through a maze of stone passageways until he came to an ancient wooden door bound in black iron strips.

He took a deep breath and shoved it open, gasping quietly at the blast of icy air that hit him.

The room was massive, bigger than he would have expected. It was roughly rectangular, slightly damp, and Donnovan thought he heard the skittering of rats somewhere in the darkened corners. A few feeble torches here and there cast dim shadows throughout the room, revealing rusted chains hanging from walls and ceilings, and countless torture devices scattered about the room - half of them Donnovan could only imagine what they were used for. The smell of rot and decay permeated the air. Datavian stood alone in the center, his back to the night elf.

"The decor is certainly you," Donnovan said, coming to a halt several steps behind the man.

Datavian chuckled. "I'm glad you like it. We may be spending a lot of time down here soon." He turned to look at him from over his shoulder. "I am expecting guests."

Donnovan felt a surge of fear. "...guests?" he said cautiously, mind instantly racing toward thoughts of the little druid before he quickly squashed them.

Datavian inhaled deeply, a faint smile on his face. "Donnovan, have you ever been part of something bigger than yourself?" The night elf shrugged, and Datavian laughed. "What do you think I have been doing all this time?"

"Besides failing?" Donnovan said dryly, staring up at the ceiling. "You are just one of a long line of mortals attempting to take over the world, and the world has certainly seen its share of those. This time will pass, as have all others."

Datavian laughed, long and loud. "A wonderful vision of me, but wrong, so wrong. I follow a larger plan...one that requires sacrifice to come to fruition. Many will die to see my vision come about...unfortunate, for they will not see my rise to glory."

Donnovan shook his head. "You, m'lord, are insane."

"Am I?" Datavian said softly. He stroked the book he never went anywhere without, hugging it to his chest. "Perhaps I am, but I gladly give up my life and sanity in service..."

"In service to what?" Donnovan asked after several moments of silence.

Datavian looked up at him, his eyes hooded. "Let me introduce you to MY Master."

The chill deepened, Donnovan's breath becoming crystals before his face. The torches blew out, throwing them into darkness, and the night elf felt a stab of terror as the air moved and stroked his face.

"What are you doing?" he asked harshly, stumbling backwards and blindly groping about for the door.

The human merely laughed, high-pitched and maniacal. The shadows deepened and solidified, hugging to Donnovan's body and lifting him from the ground. The elf began to kick and thrash, panicked, as he was encased in living shadows. And then, then the voice began.

_Look upon me and know true terror._

Donnovan felt like he was struggling in thick mud, and his panic intensified. "My lord...my lord, let me go!" Desperately he sought the door, raking his fingers down the stone wall when he finally stumbled to it against whatever it was that grasped at him. The shadows that grasped at him were trying to turn him from the door, trying to turn him to look into the depths of the darkness where Datavian stood and laughed, and Donnovan struggled more.

"No, no, no!" he screamed as the shadows solidified further and twisted him from the safety of the wall, turning him face-first into the worst of it all.

He wouldn't recall much later, only of seeing burning orange eyes glaring at him from the heart of the black, and a powerful force rolling his mind like a sea-tossed ship. It emptied him out and filled him with hate and loathing, all the while laughing along with Datavian in a voice that echoed in Donnovan's hollowed-out mind, deep and promising certain death.

Donnovan screamed until he could scream no more and fell beneath the unrelenting assault of Datavian's Master, drowning.

* * *

The morning dawned clear and bright, and Sevei sat with Zion on the edge of Telredor, gazing over the edge at the amount of water that rippled in the gentle breeze.

"It will no doubt be a very messy trip should you go by foot," Zion commented, chuckling.

Sevei nodded. "I think we'll go by air, even though it will take longer to arrive at our destination." He looked over at the other draenei, grinning. "Better than drowning on the way there."

Zion smiled at that. "Before he left, the dwarf Duncan was kind enough to point out on the map the approximate location of the gate. It appears to be laying near to Halaa, closer to Garadar than Telaar but not by much. The orcs are keeping the demons from running north to Zangarmarsh, while those of Telaar and the reinforcements sent by Sha'tar, as well as some goblin-led forces, fortify the roads leading to Shattrath and south into Terrokar."

The shaman nodded. "The Telaari Basin is no doubt assisting them in holding back the demons, but I am glad to hear they are having little problem fighting."

"That the demon who is the cause of the gate hasn't shown itself worries me," the priest went on, thumping his tail on the ground beside him in frustration. "I am expected back in Shattrath to give A'dal a full account of what went on here, otherwise I would gladly race to battle beside you."

Sevei chuckled, shielding his eyes against the sunlight glinting off the flood waters below. "And I would gladly accept your assistance, but we must do as we must. If A'dal requires you to return, best not to disobey him."

Zion shifted to look behind him; the other residents of Telredor were stirring, going about their morning business. The priest's eyes followed the mage Wanali as she walked about, speaking to others, laughing and joking. Sevei followed his gaze, smiling.

"Your wife?"

"Yes," Zion said, nodding then shaking his head. "I wish...I wish she had remained in Shattrath, out of harm's way. But she insisted to come with me. Verex too."

"Is Verex your son?"

"Nephew, actually. But it is still the same idea: I want my family safe," the priest sighed. He turned to look back out over the land. "I know even if I could, that if I were to run off to danger she would no doubt come with me." He sent Sevei a sly look. "I imagine you now have the same problem."

To his credit, the shaman didn't blush but simply chuckled. "I imagine I do..."

Zion pushed himself to his feet. "Come. If you are leaving this morning there is much to do."

Sevei followed the other male to assist in preparing for the departure. Zion wanted a full account from each of them regarding the fight with Sereventra, to be delivered to A'dal upon the priest's return to Shattrath. The draenei were also finishing repairs on Saliea's and Mikael's armor; Sevei would have to go without until he reached Telaar and the blacksmiths there, as no one in Telredor possessed the skill to repair the remains of his mail - recently dredged up from the lake bottom - and they also had no spare armor sets to offer the shaman.

Sevei retrieved his weapons from Buna, a burly draenei male who acted as the head of the Telredor guards. He watched the shaman test the sharpness of the weapons, then nodded silently when Sevei thanked him for restoring the weapons' edges.

"And...for the druid," he said, when Sevei began to walk away. The shaman turned to see Buna offering up a long-bladed dagger, its hilt set with a pearl. "She should have something better than a table knife to hang upon her belt."

Sevei chuckled as he took the knife. "I will deliver it to her, but she will be reluctant to part with the blade she has - it was a gift from a friend."

Buna nodded shortly. "Light be with you, friend, and those with you."

Sevei briefly saluted him, then went to find Saliea and the others.

* * *

Saliea knocked on the door, hearing a muffled 'come in' before she pushed it open. Mikael was sitting up on the bed, his bare back to her. She could see the shiny pink of new skin standing out in contrast to the rest of him; muscles rippled as he moved, and she had to wonder if the warlock was flexing on purpose.

"Ready to leave?" she asked, smiling when he jumped and craned his neck to look at her, a slightly pained look on his face.

"Uh, nearly," he said with a chuckle. He stood, rotating his shoulders slowly; on the bed laid his spellcasting robes, rumpled like they'd just been pulled from his backpack. The warlock had on his boots and leather pants, and looked mildly embarrassed that she'd found him in such a state of undress.

She smiled at him. "Nearly seems about right. How are you feeling?"

He shrugged then winced. "About normal. Moving hurts a bit still...I'm a bit stiff, but if you ask me it's because they haven't let me leave bed for the last few days." Slowly he bent and seized his robes, attempting to shake them straight, the pained look returning to his face. "Damn..." he muttered, hissing through his teeth.

Sal chuckled and came forward, pulling the robes from his grasp and shaking them straight, turning a sleeve right-side out before handing them back to him. "Here."

"Thank you," he laughed, slipping them on. "I lament the loss of my leather. It was custom-made for me, and will be hard to replace."

"No close-quarters fighting for you for a while," Sal said, shaking a finger at him. "Casting only. Cloth is hardly a defense against a blade."

"Not that leather was much of one either," he replied dryly. Mikael tugged at his robes, settling them across his shoulders. "Looks like I'm taking Meraka's advice whether I want to or not..."

"Hmm?" Sal hummed, looking at him curiously. "What did you say?"

He smiled at her. "Nothing. Is everyone else ready to leave?"

She nodded. "Yes. Sevei is retrieving his axes, Tebrion is waiting for us at the flight master. I came to collect you."

"We'd best not keep them waiting then."

"Did Zion speak with you? He wanted accounts from all of us to deliver to A'dal with the rest of his report," Saliea said, pushing the door open as Mikael retrieved his backpack and carefully picked up his wrapped sword.

"Yes, he did so shortly after I woke up the...ah...well, I lost count of how many times I fell back asleep. So, yes, he spoke with me and we'll leave it at that," he said, smiling down at her. He held the door open and gestured for her to go ahead of him; she stepped out, Mikael right behind her, resting a friendly hand on her shoulder as they walked.

"Sal, I want to thank you," he said after a moment. "I was told it was you who first pulled me from the lake...thank you."

She patted the hand on her shoulder, squeezing his fingers. "I wasn't about to let you drown. My worry for you overruled the...absolute rage I felt when I saw what that demon had done to you." She bit her lower lip, staring at the ground as her gait slowed. "What exactly happened, Mikael? Sevei could tell that you had been there, and there was the potion that brought him back to his senses...where did you go?"

Mikael bumped into her when she stopped completely, inhaling deeply and letting the air out slowly. His hand fell away from her when she spun around to look up at him; he was careful to stare at a point somewhere just above her head.

"Well..." he said, swallowing hard. "I'd really rather not talk about that..."

She gently shook his arm. "If you don't wish to speak of it, then that's fine," she said warmly, smiling. "I was just curious, is all. My own recollection of events prior to waking up with Sevei over me...well, I remember nothing at all, to be truthful. The time between fleeing from the murlocs to waking up on the lake is one large blank for me."

He looked at the ground, laughing somewhat helplessly. "When I...when I am more comfortable with what happened, I shall tell you. Right now, I'd rather not remember it."

With a nod, Sal turned; she reached and ascended the steps leading up to the flight master, waving and greeting someone out of sight - most likely Tebrion - leaving Mikael standing where he was. Slowly, he belted on his sword and shifted his pack to his shoulder, ignoring the pull of his scar across his middle as he sighed heavily, fighting back a feeling of intense shame.

'I can't tell you, Sal. I can't tell you what I was thinking at the time,' he thought grimly. 'I am despicable...' Again, images of a heartbroken Sal fleeing to his arms flitted through his mind, with the broken body of a draenei shaman just out of sight.

_With the shaman dead, perhaps she'd turn to me..._

The memories of the lake conflict returned: he saw himself shooting Sevei with a bolt of shadow, and feeling no remorse. It had felt natural, it was instinct, yet he had no such instinct to fire his magic at Saliea when she too had attacked him. And then...on the lake, when he'd left Sevei slumped and had chosen to try and save Saliea instead, it hadn't been instinct then. His mind flashed on the thought of a dead shaman and an elf needing consoling, and self-loathing filled him.

'What have I become?' he asked himself bitterly, a question he had asked himself so often over the years, it would seem.

He felt a sting in his palm, and realized he was clenching his fists; he pried his hands open to see little crescents filling with blood, where his fingernails had cut into his skin.

'I am a horrible person...it is no wonder...'

_It is no wonder the Light so deserted me._

* * *

Saliea smiled as she waved at Tebrion standing near the flight master; the night elf looked slightly uncomfortable at the proximity of the female draenei, who seemed quite taken with the priest. He cleared his throat and stepped away, looking relieved that Sal had arrived.

"Made a friend, have you?" she teased as the male hurried over to her.

"Not on purpose, I assure you," he said dryly. "Sevei and Mikael are...?"

"Mikael is right - well," she said, turning around to see the human wasn't there. "Well, he WAS right behind me. And Sevei I have not seen since this morning."

Tebrion raised a knowing eyebrow, and Saliea flushed slightly. "We were talking, nothing more."

"I said nothing. Do you feel a need to be defensive?" he said, hiding a smile behind his hand.

She sniffed and stepped past him, smiling when her back was to him. A footfall made her turn, and she smiled broadly when she saw both the warlock and Sevei coming up the stairs; Sevei smiled back at her, causing her stomach to flutter. He came up to her side, sliding a hand around her waist in a hug.

Tebrion frowned and looked away in time to see Mikael abruptly look away from the two, an unreadable expression on his face. The night elf raised an eyebrow, a slight tick apparent in his face for a brief instant; was every male in existence after his little sister?

"Are we ready to depart?" he said in a rush, looking away from Mikael and finding that his choice was to either look at his sister and the shaman together, or at the overly friendly flight master - once again the priest found himself wondering at his personal 'luck.'

When everyone nodded, the flight master motioned them forward. "You will be riding two and two, as you will be going over both contested territory and possibly the opened gate. My lovelies are nimble in the air, but if need be I want someone able to guide their flight should the need arise. Tebrion has told me he and the little one -" at that, Saliea bristled "- have controlled flying mounts before. You will have to fly slower to avoid overtiring your mount."

When the female had brought out the first hippogryph, she gestured for Tebrion and Mikael to come forward. She strapped them on and sent them off, then turned to Sevei and Saliea.

Saliea stroked the beak of the next mount lead out, smiling when the hippogryph playfully nipped at her fingers. "Good boy," she said softly, patting its neck. She turned as it nuzzled her and chirruped, looking up at Sevei.

"What?" she asked, seeing that the draenei was smiling widely at her.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head.

They didn't say anything further as they were strapped on the beast and sent off, zipping between the towering mushrooms, seeing glimpses of the flood-swollen swamp far below. Sal wiggled her pack down her side and leaned back against Sevei's chest, linking her fingers with his when he slid his hands around her. She let her head slip back and rest against him, hearing his heartbeat and feeling him breathe; for now, there was only the comfortable silence between them and the rocking of the hippogryph beneath them.

Though it was early morning, the sun couldn't pierce the fog that existed even at the height they were flying. It gave the world a soft blue glow that matched the mushroom tops below; idly she equated with with the glow of her shaman's eyes, a chill running up her spine as she rolled that phrase around in her mind: _her shaman._ The thought made her smile.

The scenery was something he'd seen before, and so he felt no urge to watch it pass by beneath him. His thoughts were elsewhere, somewhere he had the freedom to explore now that he had his druidess. He resisted the urge to rest his chin on the top of her head when she leaned back, instead sliding his arms around her and linking his fingers with hers. A brief instant of anxiety hit him, when it crossed his mind that they were flying to Telaar, and he now knew that was where his parents were.

He'd have to confront them so soon? He couldn't be certain this would be acceptable at first...'hello parents, this is my love Saliea.' That didn't seem to work to him, though he knew his parents would no doubt be elated that he had found a female. He nearly groaned when he thought of his father and how he might react...Savion could be a little _excitable_ at times.

Even with those thoughts in his mind, it couldn't squash the happiness he felt at having her.

Granted, his happiness was warring in his mind with feelings of terror at the thought of what they were flying into. More than anything, he despised demons - all draenei did, and with their history it was little wonder why. He wondered at the depth of hatred he held for them, for he was one of the few draenei who had little contact with the evil beings. The path of a shaman had kept him out in the wilds, far from most civilization, and so fighting demonic presences hadn't been a part of his life like it had for his parents and his siblings. Perhaps it was simply his worry for the welfare of his family that caused such a loathing...

It mattered little, he supposed. Hatred was unbecoming, no matter the reason, and he had better things to focus on now, one of which was what life held for him after this conflict was over. This wasn't something he could decide on his own, he knew - Sevei would have to have a long discussion with Saliea when things had returned to normal. The thought wasn't an unpleasant one, and almost made him want to whoop aloud in joy.

Zangarmarsh flashed by beneath them; Saliea lifted her chin and tilted her face toward him. He obligingly placed his ear near her mouth.

"When do you think Meraka and the others will return?" she asked over the whistle of the wind.

"Who knows?" he replied. "We don't even know why Meraka had to leave in the first place."

"I hope everything in Azeroth is okay," she went on after a moment. "Just because that gemstone mentioned gates only in Outland doesn't mean whomever is behind this won't strike elsewhere."

Sevei nodded grimly. "Indeed, but I am certain that, with the quickness of our warnings, that everyone is being especially vigilant." He sighed heavily. "I wish we knew why anyone would be trying to release yet another demonic threat. We have enough problems on our hands as it is."

She kissed his chin, all she could reach strapped down as she was. "One problem at a time, my dear, one at a time."

He pressed his cheek to her forehead with a chuckle. "Indeed."

Mountains appeared in the distance, the sign that they were nearing Nagrand. They lapsed back into silence, enjoying one anothers' presence, knowing that more fighting was soon to come.

When the misty marshland was left behind and broad grasslands spotted with sprawling trees appeared beneath them, Sal couldn't help but lean over the hippogryph's side and admire Nagrand.

"It's lovely," she said, glancing up at Sevei, who only smiled in response. "There's hardly any corruption at all."

"Not to the naked eye, no," Sevei said. "The spirits of the land are troubled and confused in places, and there are...traitorous Broken to found in camps here. They are killed on sight, generally. The Broken in Telaar pride themselves on retaining their honor and their sanity after they became severed from the Light; they frown upon those who allowed themselves to fall away, and they kill those who allied with the Legion."

Sal's gaze was back down on the land below, but she nodded at his words. She laughed when she saw large, shaggy-haired beasts wandering in herds across the fields. "What are those?"

Sevei leaned over, eying them. "Ah. Those are clefthoof. Leather made from their hides is very valuable and durable."

"They're adorable."

He chuckled and tugged her back upright. "We can sight-see when all of this is over. I would love to show you my home."

"Have you ever been to Teldrassil?" she asked. When he shook his head, she squeezed his hand gently. "It is a massive tree growing up from the sea north of Kalimdor. It is _my _home, a wondrous place, always twilight. I would like to take you there- ah..." she trailed off, grinning behind a hand. "Well, maybe sometime. I ah, I don't think you're quite ready to meet Fandral Staghelm."

"Your foster father?"

She nodded. "Yes. He only raised me a few months before entrusting me to a family he picked, and then afterward only barely remained at the edges of my life, but I wouldn't put it passed him to take it upon himself to judge any male I may decide...to..."

She trailed off again, blushing. "Well, I don't think you should meet him just yet," she concluded lamely.

Sevei opened his mouth to reply, then shut it with such force his teeth clicked together. Ahead of them, smoke was billowing into the sky and spreading out in a roiling mass. He raised a hand to his eyes and murmured a spell, then squinted at the smoke mass; his vision enhanced a hundredfold, allowing him to see the source of the smoke as though he stood only a few feet away. A glimmering portal spewed the smoke forth, and Sevei could see figures of varying sizes moving about at the portal's base. He squinted further and his vision was enhanced even further, revealing that a battle between a mixed group of draenei and Broken and -

"The gate?" Saliea asked, shielding her eyes against the sun as she too looked that direction. She didn't possess the shaman's enhanced sight however, and so could only see the rising smoke.

"Yes," he said grimly. "They fight nearly at its base." He flexed his hands. "We will fly passed it to Telaar, Light willing."

She nodded, then leaned and whispered something to their mount. The animal responded with a beak click, then wheeled toward the ground, causing Sevei to grunt and grasp instinctively at the straps.

"And what are we doing?" he asked, leaning over Sal's shoulder.

Sal had her hand near the set of reins provided to them by the flight master, but appeared to be guiding the hippogriff simply by patting its sides. "Redirecting our flight," she said innocently, grinning up at him.

Again, Sevei started to say something, but then his face paled. "And with good reason," he said in a rush, pointing with a hand crackling with lightning ahead of them and above their current height. "Move!"

Saliea immediately seized the reins and tugged, the hippogryph obediently banking to the left as a doomguard swept down on them from above. Sevei's spell was a glancing blow at best, skipping off the armored chest of the doomguard as it spun to the side, its fanged mouth opened wide in a snarl of feral excitement.

"Are you ready to fight, my friend?" she shouted to the hippogryph. Its reply was a screech of challenge as it took over flying, Sal dropping the reins and lifting her hands.

Sevei had to raise his hands above his head to cast, the resulting static charge from his continuous spells making the hair on the back of Saliea's neck stand on end. He sent bolt after bolt at their pursuer as it spun and flitted around them with talons and teeth flashing, twisting awkwardly against the straps holding him to the mount's back; Saliea, to his horror, unstrapped her legs and swung around, resettling herself so she was facing him.

"What are you doing?" he stuttered, immediately ceasing his spellcasting and grasping her around the waist.

She clipped her belt to his with a grin. "Just duck, I'll get rid of the thing."

When Sevei simply gaped at her wordlessly, she put both hands on his chest and shoved him flat across the rump of the hippogryph, gripping his shirt a moment to steady herself as the beast banked and nearly turned upside down to avoid a rush from the demon above, a blast of green-tinted fel flame roaring passed.

Sal raised both hands, her eyes flaring a brilliant silver, as she raised herself up as far as her belt attached to Sevei's would allow. From her palms stretched bolts of lightning that arched into the sky even as a knot of angry-looking clouds formed above and around the doomguard chasing them. As the demon ducked away, the clouds followed, and then Saliea cried out; the rush of released power made Sevei's head spin a moment. A vicious, explosive hurricane slammed into the demon and cut it to slivers, raining blood and severed gobbets of flesh onto the grasslands below. It shrieked and fell from the air, clawing at them, trying to do them harm even as it fell and died.

Saliea lowered herself back to the hippogryph's back, trembling as Sevei sat up and pulled her into his chest.

"Should I even ask?" he said dryly, pushing her back gently to look into her face.

She smiled faintly. "It's not a spell I cast often...takes a lot of magic to summon, suppress, then release that much power." With a shaky sigh, she brushed stray strands of hair from her face before leaning back and stroking the head of her mount. "Good boy, so nimble. Take us to Telaar now, please?"

The hippogryph huffed something, but Saliea smiled as the creature began to climb back into the sky and alter its course, heading once more directly for the town. Sevei pulled her upright, concern etched across his face.

"Are you all right?"

She shook her head. "A little drained, but I'll recover. Like I said, it's not something I cast often."

"With good reason. And uh," he said slowly. "Could you possibly, maybe, warn me next time prior to doing something like that?"

She stroked his cheek with a tired smile on her face. "I'll do my best to remember." She went to unstrap her belt from his and turn back around, but he closed his hands over hers with a roguish grin, stopping her.

"I think I like riding like this more...don't you?"

"My brother will kill you," she laughed, but took her hands away from her belt and instead refastened the straps around her legs, then leaned into a hug. Sevei let her, but kept his eye on the skies above and around them, occasionally looking again at the opened gate; there was still a battle going on at the base, and he found himself wondering if his parents were there right now in the thick of things. Knowing them, they were likely right at the base - no, knowing his _father _he was likely right at the base, shouting orders and swinging that hammer of his. Sevei almost smiled picturing that, and then picturing the heart attack his mother would no doubt be having.

Saliea had gone slack in his arms, and he peered down to see her eyes were shut - she wasn't quite asleep, but he didn't want to disturb her anyhow. He occupied himself with keeping alert for any further threats that may appear from the sky.

* * *

Tebrion indeed raised an eyebrow when he saw the way Sevei and Saliea slid off the hippogryph later at Telaar. He had a rather sour look on his face for the shaman that instantly disappeared when Saliea turned toward him.

"We - what happened?" she asked in a rush, hurrying over to her brother, hands reaching for his face.

Tebrion intercepted her hands, having forgotten about the bandage wrapped around his head. He gently touched it with a a hand, smiling. "Doomguards. Mikael took care of them mostly, but the first one nearly took us off the hippogryph."

"Are you all right?"

"It's only a shallow cut, nothing more," he said. "The bandage is merely there because the local healers here have an herbal salve that reduces the chances of scars." The priest patted the bandage, smiling wryly. "It also smells lovely."

"You are such a female sometimes," she sighed. "Where is Mikael?"

"Speaking with someone Sevei ought to be glad to see," he replied, winking and gesturing for them to follow him.

They had landed on a wide platform, with a smiling draenei female leading away their tired mounts. Tebrion led them to a ramp leading down, then they took a right into what Tebrion said was an inn currently serving as temporary headquarters for the defenders. There was a expanse of bar on the left side of the inn, currently covered in parchment- maps, correspondence, troop movements. The biggest draenei Saliea had seen to date was sitting, surrounded by subordinates. He shifted as they approached, revealing that Mikael sat on his far side, and also giving them a full-on view on himself.

He was very broad in the shoulders, with a shock of white hair gathered into a thick braid that was fastened with a heavy ornamental clip at the end. He had a squared jaw, two thick appendages hanging on either side of his jaw, and his forehead plate was diamond-shaped. His most striking feature, however, was a half-mask of white material that clung to the left side of his face, hiding one eye and part of the bridge of his nose, tied on like an eyepatch that reached from his hairline to the corner of his mouth. He was clad in gleaming white-gold plate with an elaborate filigree across his breastplate; the draenei stood as they walked up to him, a wide grin on his face.

"Sevei, my son," he said warmly, reaching out to tug the smaller male into a brief hug.

"Father," Sevei said quietly, slapping the other male on the back and stepping away, turning to Sal. "This is Savion, my father. Father, this is Saliea Silvermist."

Saliea smiled warmly and bowed. "I am honored to meet you, sir."

"The pleasure is mine..." he rumbled, his voice a deep bass. He eyed her, blinking slowly. "Yes, you are a bit -"

She held up a hand, sighing. "Small, yes. I've heard it all before."

He chuckled, surprising her by pulling her too into a hug. "Your brother has told me much."

"My brother is a dead man," she replied, her voice muffled slightly, causing Savion to go into a long bout of laughter.

"I like her," he said over her shoulder, grinning at Sevei.

Sevei groaned and shook his head. "Father..."

Savion swept Saliea under his arm, keeping a hand across her shoulders. "Oh, let me have my fun son. I haven't seen you in nearly a decade. I wish the circumstances were different, but there you have it. Now, come, talk with me before we ride back out to the battlefield. Your warlock here has been speaking nonstop on possible ways to shut the gate, and we've a battle plan to formulate. Our forces hold strong, but until we shut that gate the fight will never end."

Mikael leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bartop and tugging forward what appeared to be a count of the number and type of demons slain since the gate's opening. "What I can't understand is why whatever opened this thing hasn't shown its face. This account of everything you killed lacks a single fact: what type of demonic force was behind the gate in the first place." He jabbed a finger down the list. "Man'arg, doomguards, succubae, even a single pit lord-"

"Now THAT was a fun fight," Savion chuckled, pushing Saliea onto a stool next to him with Sevei dropping into one next to her. The few draenei standing around took up positions around them, all attentively watching the huge draenei.

"-but nothing possessing the power needed to set the ritual to rip open a portal," Mikael went on, shoving the list away with a look of disgust. He ran fingers through his hair, causing a few random strands to stand out from his head. "I can't sense anything beyond that gate - it's like looking at the moon when trying to find a single star."

Savion nodded his head. "A good analogy. We've -"

"Did I miss anything?"

They looked up to see Duncan the dwarf strolling in, his winged helm tucked under one arm.

"Welcome back, Buckethead," Savion greeted him. "Your report?"

"Another five flying monstrosities killed," the dwarf said, stopping at the end of the bar and thunking his helm down before propping his elbows on the bar and resting his chin in a hand. "My gryphons are dead tired, though. Be at least a day 'afore they can go out again."

Savion nodded to him. "Make sure your men get some rest. We'll have to risk a few fliers getting passed our defenses." He turned to those standing behind him. "Double the watches taking place, have any fliers taken down before they get out of the range of our mages and archers."

Amid various "yes sirs" the draenei bowed and hurried to carry the orders to the others, leaving Saliea and the others with Savion and Duncan. Savion rubbed his temples and sighed heavily, then sat up straight and smiled.

"We will prevail. Now. To this problem of the gate itself...warlock?"

Mikael simply shook his head. "I'm certain I can find a way to shut it with time, time that will be shortened when I'm actually standing before the thing."

"I can arrange for us to be there later this afternoon," Savion said, standing. "For now, I've a few scattered scout reports to receive yet, then we can depart." He looked at Sevei, winking. "Your mother will be eager to meet the little one."

Sevei groaned and hid his face in his hands. "Father..."

Saliea both tried hiding laughter behind a hand and simultaneously shooting a glare at her brother. "Tebrion, you are a dead. Man," she laughed, dancing around Savion to rest her hands on Sevei's shoulders. She gave them a reassuring squeeze, still laughing, as Savion left the room and disappeared out into the sunshine.

Duncan was chuckling himself, shaking his head. "I've got gryphons to see to. I will catch up with ye this evening," he said, picking up his helmet and saluting them briefly. "Good seeing ye again, lad. Good to see ye up and about as well," he said, tipping his head to Mikael.

Mikael smiled. "It's good to be out of that bed."

The dwarf waved and left, leaving the four friends alone in the inn. Saliea immediately shot Tebrion a glare.

"Tebrion..."

Tebrion held up his hands. "Now, wait a moment. _I _was _asked _about you and Sevei, I did not tell. Apparently, hehe," the priest chuckled, "apparently Zion sent a little note ahead. I merely answered the questions put to me."

Sevei still had his face in his hands. "Saliea, I am sorry," he moaned.

Sal draped her arms around his shoulders, resting her chin on his head, his ponytail tickling her cheek. "It is fine, really. We should have seen the embarrassing moments coming." She lightly tickled his ear, drawing a faint chuckle from the shaman. "If you think my meeting your father was bad, you _really_ don't want to meet mine."

Tebrion held up a hand, clearing his throat. "Our father wouldn't be the problem, it would be Stag-"

"Do you not think you're getting a little ahead of yourselves?" Mikael interrupted, staring intently at the table in front of him, drawing looks of surprise from the rest of them. He looked up at them, his face unreadable. "My mother always said it was unwise to speak of the future as permanent, as it is always changing."

"Mikael..." Sal said quietly, but the warlock waved her silent and stood, striding for the door.

A draenei came through the opening just as Mikael reached it, a look of outright rage on his face.

"How DARE you come here?" the draenei roared, his fist flashing out and slamming into the surprised human's face. Mikael's head snapped back, a fine spray of blood arching in the air in his wake as he stumbled backwards with a pained grunt. He lost his footing and fell, landing on his backside as he reached for his spurting nose, the second punch launched by the draenei missing him entirely.

The attacking draenei didn't get a chance to adjust to Mikael's new position on the floor, as with an ear-splitting roar Saliea was across the room, her slim form now furry and full of snarling teeth. She hit the draenei and knocked him completely out of the inn, where they rolled down the incline beyond the doorway, Sal ending up on top of him, her face scant inches from his.

"What just happened?" Tebrion asked, somewhat dazedly but leaping to his feet and hurrying to Mikael's side. Sevei shook his head and stepped to the warlock, but was angrily waved away.

"S-sal," Mikael stuttered, gesturing with a bloodied hand down to where Saliea had the other male pinned.

Sevei nodded curtly, hurrying down to kneel beside them. Saliea had her teeth bared and was growling, low and dangerous, into the male's face. The shaman looked up at the sound of footsteps rushing up, seeing his father and two guards rushing up; he'd never seen such a look of rage on his father's face before.

"What just happened?" he snapped, looking from Sevei to the two on the ground.

"I- I am not sure myself," Sevei said, reaching out to rest a hand on Sal's flank. "Love, if you would...?"

She snapped her teeth at the male's nose, causing him to recoil reflexively then rolled off him, shrinking back into her elven form as she moved. Within seconds she was squatting on her heels at Sevei's side, glaring down at the draenei she had been pinning to the ground.

"He came in, and he attacked Mikael unprovoked!" she snarled.

The male, now that she was off him, had the nerve to look offended. "His kind shouldn't be here! We don't need help from the likes of him!"

Savion seized his collar and lifted him several inches from the ground, putting them nearly nose to nose. "What did you do?"

"What we all should do!" he said vehemently. "Anyone dealing with darkness should be destroyed or locked away!"

The look of rage on Savion's face intensified.

Saliea gently touched Sevei's shoulder, drawing the male's attention her. "I am going to check on Mikael."

He nodded, standing and pulling her with him. "I will be along shortly."

She moved away, heading back into the inn, leaving Sevei standing with his father, who was now arguing with the draenei he had suspended off the ground. The shaman bit his lower lip, shaking his head.

* * *

They didn't go to the portal that evening, Savion instead fluctuating between raging that one of the men under his control would act in such a way and being incredibly apologetic that the incident had even happened.

"We shall depart immediately in the morning," he said in between restless pacing fits. "I am so _shamed_ that-"

"It's nothing," Mikael said moodily, sitting hunched over the bar. Sal sat at his side, but couldn't get him to look at her.

Tebrion had repaired his nose, the punch having broken it ("nearly knocked off-center," the priest had commented when asked about it), and since then Mikael had been incredibly quiet.

"No, it is NOT nothing," the large draenei growled, clenching and unclenching fists. "It is..."

"Nothing," Mikael snapped, glaring at him. "Just, just let it drop."

Savion simply shook his head and continued to pace restlessly. "I can't believe this happened..."

Sevei came in, pulling his cloak off and folding it over his arm. Savion looked up at him sharply.

"You saw him off?"

Sevei nodded. "He is on his way back to Shattrath, escorted, as you ordered." He came up and sat behind Saliea, tossing his cloak over the table and wrapping arms around Saliea's waist, pulling her from her chair and into his lap. She leaned back into him, looking at Mikael then to the shaman, shaking her head sadly. He simply kissed her silently on the forehead and hugged her, sighing.

Savion growled, and turned to them all. "I suggest you all get some sleep, we will leave at first light. There are places up the stairs prepared for you all."

At Savion's words they all filtered up to find the cots waiting on them. They were much too small for Saliea to even contemplate sharing one with Sevei, so they took a pair that sat near one another and settled down. An hour or so later, the shaman had drifted to sleep; Saliea watched him, finding herself unable to find a comfortable position on the hard cot.

She sat up, looking over her sleeping shaman and, beyond him, her snoring brother, both on her right. She turned to her left in time to see the top of Mikael's head disappear from sight, heading silently down the stairs.

"Mikael...?" she whispered, sliding her feet over the edge of her cot and silently padding on bare feet after him.

She crept along in his wake, following him outside and to the rope bridge that led north out of Telaar. She watched him stop and lean against the post, his shoulders shaking as he hunched in on himself as two Broken guards patrolled passed without hardly a glance his direction. He stayed like that, hunched over, even after they had left.

"Mikael?"

He jumped, spinning around in surprise. He was dressed in his leather pants and a simple linen shirt, having left his robes crumpled at the foot of his cot. "Sal," he breathed, taking a deep breath. "I...I thought you were asleep."

"And I, you," she said, walking up to him. "What is wrong?"

He shook his head. "It's nothing."

She reached out and looped an arm through one of his. "\Won't you please talk to me?"

Again, he shook his head. "It's just...well." He ran his free hand through his hand, laughing helplessly. "I don't belong here, you know? I should have never left Azeroth. I should have never sat aside my own quest and come here. I should have simply sent you all on your way, wished you luck...and yet, yet I also believe that I was right in coming with you. Despite all things. Despite my initial, selfish reason for coming."

She tilted her head, a look of mild confusion on her features. He shook his head, reaching up to stroke her face, feeling her stiffen under his touch. "You see? I was both wrong to come...and yet I know this was right. Despite how you may feel about me, it doesn't change how I see you."

She gently pushed his hand from her face. "Mikael, I will openly admit I care for you, but not in the same way you do me. I see you as another brother now...you are as big a pain in my backside as Tebrion is, after all," she laughed, Mikael laughing along with her, both of them then lapsing into quiet.

"I am just incredibly conflicted right now, over so many things," he sighed after a moment of silence. "You, this demonic problem, my own quest."

"Your quest to find Datavian?"

His face darkened. "Yes. It is...vital, that I find him. I will not rest until I do so, and I fear," he said, trailing off a moment. "I fear that, that my coming with you has set me back on that quest, but I couldn't just let you all go. My conscience wouldn't allow it, no matter how I later tried rationalizing it to myself. And then, the longer I have been around you-"

She held a finger to his lips, silencing him. "I can tell your thoughts are certainly scattered, my friend, and I am grateful you are being so honest with me."

He grasped that finger, gently kissing it. "But, the thing is...I _haven't_ been honest with you. I...remember how you asked me, what happened on the lake?" She nodded, and he ground his teeth together. "It's a matter of shame for me, what I was thinking then."

"You were thinking that were Sevei to die, I would turn to you?" she asked softly.

He flinched away from her like he'd been burned. "How did you-"

"It is only logical," Sal said, eyes on the ground. "And, did you think that?"

Expression pained, he nodded. "Yes, I did think that. And when I found you together, in the circle, I went to save you first. Sal," he said hoarsely, turning toward her again. "Sal, I am so ashamed of my thoughts. I...I don't know what I am anymore." His voice began to crack, his breathing ragged. "I keep looking at myself and seeing changes I don't like, and the problem is I don't even realizing I'm changing until I look back and see the disgusting choices I keep making, the disgusting thoughts I keep having. I was never this selfish. I was never this bitter, I didn't use to be capable of even entertaining the thought of tormenting another being. It's like I'm turning into a monster, and I can't stop it."

"Monster?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I look at you and simply see Mikael."

"You should see a monster," Mikael said bitterly, shaking his head. "I have fallen so far..."

Her hand closed over his, pulling it to her, gently shaking it until he looked at her. "I see a man, a kind man with a troubled heart, when I look at you. I see a brother I want to shake some sense into when I look at you. I see a powerful spellcaster and an able fighter when I look at you. All of these things are you, yet you're so much more. Monster is not one of them." She peered up into his face, smiling. "I see someone I want to comfort so much, but don't know how. I see someone I want to help. You're focusing so hard on your flaws that you can't see the good that the rest of us do."

Sniffing, he abruptly turned away, sucking in a deep breath. "I can't understand how I gained your friendship. I don't deserve it, and yet..." He shook his head, chuckling. "Even just being in your presence brings me peace of mind."

A scrape on the path made them both turn to see Sevei standing there, blinking sleepily at them.

"I saw you both gone and was worried," he said, stifling a yawn.

Saliea squeezed Mikael's hand that she still held. "Mikael needed someone to talk to, so we came where we wouldn't disturb others."

Sevei nodded, closing his eyes and raising his face to the sky. "...sunrise is in a few hours. We should return to bed, as my father is a stickler for rising at dawn." He looked at them, a wry smile on his face. "I once believed, when I was a child, that the man didn't actually sleep."

Mikael laughed, his earlier torment hidden and his usual smile on his face – he was as talented at hiding his mood as he was at hiding his pain. "I once believed that of my father as well." He let his hand slip from Sal's, bowing and gesturing for her to precede him. "After you, my friend."

She rolled her eyes and linked an arm through his, dragging him with her to Sevei's side and looping her other arm through one of the shaman's. "Come on then, let's get ourselves back to sleep so we're not dead on our feet tomorrow," she said, laughing.

Joining in her laughter the two fell in step with the druid, turning toward the inn. They hadn't gotten far when a blast of air struck their backs. Together they turned, and several things happened at once.

A hooded, cloaked figure had appeared at the foot of the bridge, a sinewy and bejeweled glowing staff in one hand and a heavy tome floating in the air beside him. Before anyone had time to react, he lashed out with the staff, a bolt of flaming orange energy racing out and slamming full force into Saliea. The elf let out a shriek as she was blown out of the arms of the two males on either side of her and then engulfed in magical energy. Before the horrified eyes of Sevei and Mikael, she appeared to simply burn away to nothing, a fine orange mist floating back to the cloaked figure and collecting in an outstretched palm; it solidified into a gleaming jewel that dropped heavily into his hand.

"_Saliea!" _Sevei roared, charging at the figure.

To Mikael, time seemed to be moving in slow motion. Sevei was hardly moving, Mikael's own limbs seemed to be made of stone as his brain was sluggishly trying to put together what had just happened. Before his eyes, the hooded figure gestured and the shaman was lifted into the air and thrown, the draenei disappearing with an anguished cry over the edge of the bridge behind him. Mikael finally found himself moving, his hands forming the elaborate movements needed to cast a spell, and then the figure ripped his hood back. To Mikael, at that moment, time itself stopped.

"You..."

The bald man smiled, brandishing the jewel he held. "I must push harder."

"You...YOU!"

Instantly time returned to normal and Mikael rushed at him, years of rage rising to his mind and coloring his vision a deep red. Spell after spell left his hands, but the man simply blinked from view, appearing several yards above the warlock, floating in the air. With a smug look, Datavian took aim and blasted Mikael into darkness.


	17. Chapter 17

Tebrion heard his sister scream.

He pushed himself up on his elbows and turned, seeing the empty beds and then sprang up, rushing for the stairs and bolting headlong down them, nearly running over the innkeeper as she stepped out from a side room behind the bar, a look of terror of her face.

"What is that? What is happening?" she asked him, but he shoved passed her and ran outside.

He saw an orange flash to the north, and then there was a brief instance of silence before the shouting of guards and thundering footsteps sounded from every building. Tebrion sprinted immediately for the source of the flash, finding a senseless Mikael slumped face-first in the ground, and no sign of his sister or of Sevei.

He was torn: search for his sister, or help the human at his feet?

A groan from Mikael drew his attention and tormented him more, but he bent and shoved the human onto his back and began to work on bringing him back to consciousness. The warlock's eyes fluttered open and he coughed, shoving Tebrion away from him.

"Where is he?"

Tebrion seized his shoulders and roughly shook him. "Mikael! Where is Sal?"

The human looked at him, his eyes wide and crazed, as though he was looking through the priest instead of at him. "Where is he?" His head snapped back when Tebrion slapped him, hard.

"Warlock, FOCUS. _Where is my sister?"_

Mikael looked at him, really looked at him now. "...he took her."

"Who?" Tebrion snarled, shaking him again.

"Datavian," came the muted reply, Mikael pulling back and grasping handfuls of his own hair, seeming to fold in on himself. "Datavian..."

Tebrion shoved him away and stood, eyes searching the surrounding area. "Sal! Saliea!"

"You're too late."

The priest turned around at Mikael's declaration, eyes flashing. "What happened, Mikael? Tell me!"

Mikael turned hollow eyes up to him. "Datavian took Saliea. Threw Sevei over the edge. Blasted me...I wasn't strong enough. I could do nothing." He slowly sank into a cross-legged position. "All these years, and I wasn't... I didn't react...I didn't...and she's gone." He appeared to be talking to himself now, totally ignoring Tebrion even though he still stared right at the night elf.

Tebrion simply stared at him in confusion a moment, before the area was overrun with guards all shouting for explanations. Savion quickly appeared, his hair hanging around his face in disarray, and missing his eye patch. When Tebrion saw what the patch had actually been covering, he couldn't quite stifle his gasp of surprise.

The draenei's eye socket gaped empty and scarred, his skin bearing the texture of pitted raw meat from hairline to just below the socket. Angrily, Savion clapped a hand over the gruesome sight and took a deep breath.

"Priest, what just happened? Who screamed?"

"I don't know, my sister is gone, I don't know what happened, and Mikael says Sevei was tossed over the edge of Telaar," Tebrion answered in a single breath. "Mikael is in shock and he's the only one here who saw anything."

Savion started barking orders, commanding a group to scale down the cliff surrounding Telaar and search for Sevei, and yet another group to scour the city for any clue as to the identity of their attacker. He himself knelt at Mikael's side where the warlock huddled on the ground and clapped a hand to the human's shoulder.

"Warlock? Mikael? What happened here?"

Mikael shook his head and looked up helplessly at him. "I wasn't...I didn't..." he said, trailing off, eyes wide and staring. "He took her."

Savion shook him. "Pull yourself together and _talk to me!_ Who took her? Took who? The little druid?"

In response the warlock simply stood up and walked away, toward the bridge Sevei had disappeared over. Savion watched him go, stunned, shaking his head ever so slightly. Tebrion grabbed at him as he walked by, but Mikael roughly shook him off, moving to stand at the edge of the bridge and peer down into the dark below.

Slowly he knelt, wrapping one arm around the nearby post, then thrust a hand down the side of the cliff without looking. A hand grasped his, and Mikael hauled into view a battered-looking Sevei.

* * *

Savion, his eyepatch in place once more, tilted Sevei's head back and forth, studying his son's eyes carefully where the shaman sat at the bar in the inn.

Sevei sat silently, his eyes watering both from the curse that afflicted them, and from grief. Datavian - the only solid bit of information they'd managed to get out of Mikael - had tossed the shaman like a ragdoll and, halfway down the cliffside as Sevei frantically reached out to the earthern spirits for help, had struck him blind. His eyes were the black-blue of a thunderstorm, instead of the brilliant sky-blue they normally glowed, and Sevei was most definitely unable to see.

"Appears to be no more than a magical curse," Savion said finally. "I see no damage." He stepped back and motioned to the guards standing watch at the door. "Is she here yet?"

"Just arrived, my love," came the response as a draenei female, clad in armor nearly identical to Savion's, brushed past the guards and walked in. She pulled off her helm, letting a shock of ice-blue hair fall free, hanging nearly to the base of her tail.

"Mother?" Sevei asked, turning his head toward her voice.

"Yes, son," she said, her voice soft. She walked up and gently stroked his face then hugged him. She turned to look at her husband, eying him up and down before shaking her head, clucking her tongue. "Take that off, you are among family."

Savion's look turned stony, but he nonetheless reached up and tugged off his eyepatch, revealing the gruesome socket once more. Tebrion hissed through his teeth and looked away; the female simply shook her head with a sad smile.

"It pains him to wear anything over it," she explained, "but he can't tolerate the staring for long." She gave the night elf priest a little bow. "I have heard of you and the others, and I am sorry circumstances are what they are. I am Sechi, and you now of course know my husband, Savion." The two draenei gave each other a fond look, very brief but unmistakable.

"What happened, if I may ask?" Tebrion asked quietly, and both draenei turned back to him.

"It happened before we were married," she replied. "He was captured and injured, and the wound will not close."

Savion lightly brushed his fingers over the pitted skin. "I wear my patch to spare others, but in the presence of family I do not wear it. Anything, even the slightest breeze, can agitate the raw flesh."

Sechi smiled, then turned back to Sevei. "Now...what shall we do with you, my son?" she said softly, tilting his chin up to perform her own examination of his eyes.

"Do whatever you must to restore my sight. I must go after Saliea," he growled.

Savion stepped up, rubbing his chin as he looked down at the shaman. "I believe I know how to restore it, but..." and he shared a look of concern with his wife. "I think that it would be best..."

"If you stayed here," Sechi finished quietly.

Sevei flinched away from them, clumsily standing and running his hands along the bar as he moved away. "No. No, I cannot. I must...I must find her!"

"And how do you intend to do that, son?" Savion rumbled. "Her kidnapper has vanished, and all traces of her with him. There is no trail for you to follow."

"I refuse to believe that!" Sevei shouted, dropping into a seat far from his parents. "I have to find her!"

Sechi and Savion exchanged looks, twin expressions of helplessness and sorrow on their faces, both at a loss.

Tebrion stood silent and pale, a shadow behind the bar; the innkeeper hovered near him, twisting her hands together uncomfortably and looking from the married couple to Sevei, looking close to tears. Tebrion swallowed hard and then cleared his throat.

"Sevei, as much as I hate to agree...they're right," he said, his voice cracking. He came around the bar, his face drawn and eyes sparkling as though he was near tears. "We have no way of finding her now...and we have another p-pressing matter to a-attend to."

Savion resolutely strapped his eyepatch back on and nodded to his wife. "Let us restore sight to our son, then discuss the matter of the gate that still lies open."

Sevei was shaking as the two draenei stepped up to him again, their hands outstretched and glowing golden. Together they began to chant a prayer, softly at first, but then letting their voices crescendo as they called upon the powers of the Light. Sevei's face was bathed in the glow, and he hissed as though in pain, but when the two pulled away and he opened his eyes, the familiar soft blue of his eyes looked out at them all.

He blinked several times and rubbed at them, then stood and shoved his way between his parents. "I thank you, now excuse me."

"Son, stop."

Sevei turned around, a look of rage on his face. "Leave me be. There is nothing, _nothing_, I wish to hear from you right now."

Sechi stretched her hand out to him. "My son, be reasonable. How can you possibly find her? I am saddened, deeply saddened, that she is in the hands of an evil man now, but right now we need to focus on what we _can_ do."

At that, the shaman simply to simply deflate, leaning against the wall with his chin falling to lay on his chest. "Don't tell me to be logical...I don't want to be logical, I want Saliea back."

"As do we all," Tebrion said quietly. "I-" he abruptly stopped when steps came down the stairs. They all looked up to see Mikael, a haunted look on his face, descend. "You."

The human stared blankly at them, then slowly shook his head and came down to perch on the edge of one of the stools at the bar. Tebrion eyed him, then blew out an exasperated breath.

"Not even a word? You were the only one who saw everything that happened. Any enlightening words?" the elf asked sarcastically.

"What's the use?" Mikael said bluntly. "She's gone. I don't know how to shut this gate. What's the point?"

"The point?" Tebrion repeated in amazement. "The point? The point is the only person in any position to help anyone right now is you, and all you've done all day is lay up there on your cot and refuse to talk to anyone!"

Mikael simply shook his head. "It makes little difference. I'm useless, aren't I? The man I've been hunting for years just shows up, and I can't even react. Years wasted only to freeze up when the moment comes, and now Saliea's gone because of it. I tracked Datavian on Azeroth bu his presence, but I didn't sense before the attack and I can't sense him now. What is the point of continuing on?"

"So this is all you are, then?" Tebrion snapped, striding up to stand at the warlock's side. "All dashing sword-swinging and flashy spellcasting until something is big enough to push back, and then you admit defeat? What of the first demon? What of the beating you gave Sereventra?"

"What of it?" Mikael muttered, turning away from the priest.

Tebrion stood there a moment, trembling with his fists clenched, and then he did something that surprised everyone in the room. He shoved Mikael off the stool and up against the wall, slamming him face-first and bouncing him back up, spinning him around and seizing the front of his robes before slamming him back again and pinning him there.

"Elune damn you!" he hissed into the human's face. "Let me tell you something. I loved a woman named Bylana, she was several years my senior and advanced in her path of priestess to Elune. She made me look like an amateur, but we loved one another dearly. We skirted around the idea of marriage for many centuries, sneaking around like youngsters, afraid to make the commitment. When the Scourge came, Bylana was sent to what is now the Eastern Plaguelands, to help the defenders there. She was killed and raised and I never saw her again, never received a body to even bury or mourn over." Tebrion pulled him forward and slammed him once more back into the wall, Mikael's face a mask of utter surprise. "I loved Bylana more than anything, and when she was gone it destroyed me. Life wasn't worth living. Saliea pulled me from a deep depression and taught me that even should we suffer a staggering blow our only recourse is to get up once more! We all suffer, life itself is suffering, but only by getting up again can we ease the suffering of those around us. To do nothing is to admit we are nothing."

He shoved Mikael away, tears coursing down his face. "I love my sister, I love her and I owe her so much for showing me to live again with Bylana gone. I will be damned, _damned,_ if I let you dishonor her memory by moping about!" He pointed a finger at him, breathing hard. "She risked her life to come out here to safeguard the lives of people we don't even know! How dare you sit there and tell me that it's all worthless? That her sacrifice was worthless? That there's no point in it all?" He stalked toward Mikael, who actually took a few cautious steps backward. "Grieve on your own time! Right now there are hundreds of thousands of others depending on us right now to protect them from this new threat! So you put your grief aside, stop blaming yourself for events beyond your control, and you help finish what Saliea came out here to do!"

Dead silence fell on the room. Tebrion looked around to see every draenei in the room staring open-mouthed at him, but he didn't care. Mikael was still standing still, his look of surprise fading to one devoid of emotion. For a long moment, the only sounds were of Tebrion trying to catch his breath and angrily dashing tears from his cheeks - then Mikael spun on his heel and strode quickly from the room, heading outside.

Sevei stared after him, then growled low in his throat and followed. Without a word to anyone, Savion and Sechi too hurried out after their son and the warlock, with Tebrion close at their backs and still drying his face with a sleeve.

"Mikael, where are you- stop!" Sevei shouted, coming out in time to see Mikael complete his summoning of his dreadsteed mount. The warlock cast them a hooded glance, then leapt astride the demonic mount and kicked it into a gallop, leaping it over the shallow pool of water in the town's center and thundering away to the north across the bridge.

* * *

Tebrion's words echoed over and over in his mind, and they were not alone.

Emotion assaulted him – anger, grief, guilt. The anger and grief he could handle, but the guilt...it ate at him, for so many reasons.

Datavian...he knew the man well. He'd lied about him so many times now, so many in fact that Mikael had held out hope that perhaps he'd begin to forget about what set him on his quest to find Datavian in the first place...but, murder was not easy to forget, betrayal even more so.

And again the guilt twisted in his gut; Mikael had thought he had made his decision long ago, but seeing Datavian again had raised doubts, and anger. The doubts kept him rooted in place as the man stole away Saliea and nearly killed Sevei – in that moment, seeing them gone, the doubt had been burned away by anger, but by then it was too late to do anything. And then, once the anger faded, once the numbness of horror at his inaction set in, he was aware that the guilt and doubts he had thought he had overcome...were still there.

Would he have the nerve to...to finish things? If he were forced to slay Datavian, COULD he?

Guilt. Doubt. So much of it...

There was more to this than anyone knew...and Mikael was too ashamed to tell anyone the truth of matters. And perhaps because he'd lied and withheld the truth about Datavian, that was why he was so blind to the fact that Datavian had been watching him – watching THEM - the entire time.

Watching, and placing obstacles in their path.

Tebrion's words had shattered the numbed state Mikael had fallen into, had tugged the warlock back to reality; in a way Mikael was thankful, for he had fallen into a withdrawn state he had not been trapped in since the events that put him on this path in the first place.

The events were still painfully fresh in his mind. He still saw himself walking into his home, his boots crunching over the shattered glass from the stained glass window their father had set into their front door. The study was untouched, but his mother's workshop, her little "realm of whimsy" as she had always jokingly called it, that was where he'd found her.

_"Mother?" he'd called, frantic. The door had been blasted from its hinges, the glass shattered to thousands of sparkling shards scattered about the hand-woven rug on the floor before his father's chair in the study._

_ He rushed through the cottage, seeing signs of struggle - scorch marks on the floor and the walls, pictures laying in the floor knocked from the walls, furniture overturned in every room except the study, where the struggle must have originally begun. His pace increased, his heart started to race. He rounded the corner and it was like walking into a wall - the shock and grief hit him all at once, and the image of his mother sprawled in the floor in a poor of congealing blood would remain with him forever. _ _The guilt had come soon after – why hadn't he been home? How did he not see..._

Mikael almost wiped at his knees self-consciously, his eyes staring unseeing at the scenery around him, guiding his steed by instinct alone, once again feeling the gooey blood seep into his trouser legs...his father was still so unwell...

He bit his lip and wrenched his mind from the past, blinking rapidly as another surge of guilt hit him. How he'd even met Saliea came to mind now along with the guilt; of meeting her and Sevei in a prison in Orgrimmar. It seemed so long ago now, but one instant of that time spent together in captivity stood out: when he'd first mentioned Datavian, but had withheld the true reasons he sought him. A criminal...a rogue warlock. It sounded so simple in his mind, but he knew even then that Datavian was far more powerful than he was letting on.

Would things have been different had he spoken the truth? He couldn't know, he'd never know – he hadn't even known Datavian was hunting him. It was a lie, born out of the omission of truth...he wanted no one to know how powerful Datavian truly was, because he feared someone would want to help him in his search. It was a lie he told over and over, to ensure he remained alone in his quest. And then he had met Saliae, and the others...and his lie had -

He shook his head violently, inhaling deeply and blowing out a shaky breath. No, it was foolish to think that anything would have changed the outcome of Datavian's ambush...not even if everyone knew who Datavian truly was, and what he'd done.

'If only I...' His eyes burned as he bit down on the waves of self-hate that threatened to overwhelm him. All these years, all that work, only to be taken by surprise and, and...

_Would that he had killed me and spared me this ._

His destination was finally in sight; the portal loomed ahead, the tents of those standing guard over it dotting the land a safe distance away from the gate, lit up by torches and watchfires. Mikael galloped into their midst, ignoring cries of guards demanding he stop and identify himself.

'I will finish what we started, my beautiful Saliea. My hope is that you still live, but if you...if you are no longer alive, I will see to it that your purpose here in Outland is completed. And then I shall carry your memory with me, as well as the pain of your death, for as long as it takes to make Datavian pay for his crimes.'

He dismissed his mount as he drew nearer to the gate, Spellcleaver naked in his hand and point-down to the earth. Determinedly he strode forward, shoving his senses outward and probing the area; he could feel the evil creatures lurking just on the other side of the gate, could sense the dark and the chaos beyond, and also felt the demons react to his presence. Eagerness, hunger, rage, hatred, a maelstrom of emotions battered at him but fell away at his mental shield, ignored as Mikael probed the gate for weaknesses.

Not surprisingly, he found none. In the completed rituals he'd come across over the years - a very scant few - he'd found flaws in the casting carried over, so if no mistake was made in the circle there wouldn't be one in the final product. His senses were still fine-tuned to the threat before him, so he could feel the demons stirring, preparing for another push through; he could also hear several sets of footsteps approaching from behind as well, and Mikael wasn't certain whether it was soldiers reacting to the active portal, or whether they were coming to drag him away. Either way, it didn't matter - he intended to end this now, for something had just occurred to him.

There was a presence here...muted, but overbearing. Large, but hidden somehow... The key would be to find this presence, as that was likely the demon overseeing this portal. If he could find that demon, he had a better chance of learning where the focus was so that he could force the portal to collapse and close.

But where was it? Where was this presence? Mikael had the distinct impression that the demon was hiding in plain sight, but also the conflicting sense that he was looking for an elekk in an empty room. It felt so obvious, and yet...

He stared at the portal, brow furrowing, and then nodded in sudden understanding.

The demon was hidden in plain sight, disguised. The defenders around Mikael thought they battled near a portal, and technically they did.

But also, they battled under a giant mouth.

* * *

"Many sided, apparent perfection, beautiful, delicate," Datavian murmured, holding the amber-hued gem up to the light of a torch. "So very much like the creature it imprisons."

The jewel laid heavy in his palm, about the size of the top joint of his thumb, with a spark of light within its crystalline depths that spun and whirled like the firelight he held it to. He chuckled, rubbing his fingers over it gently. "An unexpected tool to be used..."

Datavian nodded to himself, slowly clenching fingers over the gem. A tool, yes...a tool to push the warlock harder. Enrage him, force him further down the path required of him.

He was back in the dungeon, standing in the middle of the room much like he had been when he introduced Donnovan to his master. Not in any hurry, he strolled over toward the far wall where rusted manacles hung from chains hammered into the stone walls, lining the wall and bumping up against a squat iron-barred cage that had an occupant already. Datavian hardly gave the occupant a look as he squared his shoulders to the wall.

Casually, he tossed the gem up into the air and easily caught it, then slung it full-force at the wall. It hit the stone and shattered, releasing a raging mess of orange flame that spiraled up and out, rattling the chains on the wall. It twisted and writhed, then formed into a vaguely humanoid shape and began to take on a more solid appearance; several moments later the druid encased in the gem was hanging by her wrists from the manacles, her boots barely brushing the ground.

She looked around wildly, licking her lips and breathing hard, a look of barely-constrained terror on her face. Datavian stood silently and let her take in her surroundings, a smug grin on his face; he gestured, conjuring a table from thin air and carefully set down the tome he carried, having left his staff safely stored away in his bedchambers.

And then he waited. Predictably, when her gaze finally fell on him, she gasped and her expression changed from one of fright to one of anger.

"Who are you? Where am I?"

Datavian bowed deeply, sweeping his arm far out to the side as he bent. "My name is Datavian. You may call me Master."

"I will call you dead," she snarled, glaring up at the chains that restrained her. "Where am I? What did you do to Mikael and Sevei?"

"The shaman is of little concern to me," he replied idly with a dismissive wave of his hand. "And the warlock is now firmly shoved toward the path he should have taken in the first place. And now...what to do with you," he mused, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. He took several steps closer, moving aside when she kicked out at him. "Ah ah, now. We can't have that," he chuckled, pointing a finger at her feet. The wall ballooned out, becoming a semi-liquid that ensnared her calves and leaked down to her ankles before becoming solid once more, even as the druid kicked and struggled to pull herself from it.

Now he stepped in close, pressing his body against her, resting a hand on the wall on either side of her head. "You are a lovely thing. The mortals of this world intrigue me so..."

She lunged, snapping at him with suddenly very sharp teeth, and Datavian jerked back in surprise. "And feisty as well. You shall be an amusing plaything, far more amusing than the others I have taken for my pleasure." He moved quickly as she came for him again, slapping a forearm across her throat and pushing back hard. As she choked and twisted to suck in air, Datavian pressed a palm to her forehead and whispered a spell. "There, that should take care of any problems we might have in the future. Now...I wonder. What does an elf taste like?" he chuckled, grinning nastily. Sal suddenly found his mouth pressed over her own, and a tongue probing; she bit at it, then managed to catch his lip before he had time to pull away, grinding her teeth together until she felt blood.

Datavian yanked away, laughing uproariously. "A fine plaything indeed! How I love the mortals here." He licked at his bleeding lip, watching in amusement as Sal spat repeatedly to get rid of the blood in her mouth. He once again stepped forward and pressed himself to her, having to lean down to compensate for her shorter height.

"You will learn to love me, in time," he whispered, stroking a finger down her cheek.

"I would rather die," she snapped, jerking away from his finger.

"Broken toys are of little use to me. You should consider yourself honored I find you worth my attention. I have taken so many to my bed...so many do not meet my expectations, my hopes," he said lightly, now running his hands down her chest and sides, resting them on her hips. "Be a good little pet and I won't have to hurt you...or do worse. All I desire is quiet obedience." With that, he unfastened her belt and slipped it off, removing the dagger tucked in it and sliding it into his own waistband. Next, he began slowly removing her armor, pausing when Saliea struggled against him as much as her bounds would allow. When he had her stripped down to just the deep purple cloth undergarments and her boots, he stepped back and let his gaze roam over her.

"Yes, you are a fine specimen. This world has such interesting creatures," he mused.

"I will force you to kill me," she snarled, when his hands came near again and slipped under her shirt.

Datavian let his hands roam, ignoring her growls and attempts to bite him. "You may try, but I assure you I've other ways to tame you before I ever contemplate ending you," he whispered, grinning as he slipped a hand down the front of her pants.

She was glaring in outright hatred at him, but a sound escaped her lips, a sound Datavian knew well from the few female partners he had ever taken to bed; she may be putting on an angry face, but the whimper that escaped her was one of deep-felt fear, an emotion no one could ever fully suppress. It gave him a little burst of satisfaction, to know she despised him enough to fear his touch, and he had done little beyond slip his hand in to lay flat against her without actually touching her sexually.

The satisfaction disappeared when he suffered a hard kick to his kneecap; she'd worked a foot free of her boot, and was preparing to kick him again. He stepped back, somewhat angry at having his fun spoiled, but not really wanting a shattered knee.

"Perhaps I haven't made myself clear," he chuckled, leaning down to rub where she'd struck him. "Conquering is half the fun, it excites me. Submissive bedfellows lose their allure after so long...but, that isn't to say I refuse them." He straightened, holding his hands out before him. A glow the color of autumn leaves was beginning to engulf them; he placed his hands on either side of her face, gripping her tightly and forcing her to hold still. "Allow me to show you."

He placed his thumbs over her eyes and chanted, ignoring her now-terrified protests and fighting to hold her still. The power moved from his hands and to her eyes, soaking in and putting the elf into a frenzied seizure of movement, of struggle. Then she went limp, and Datavian smiled to himself.

"A hard lesson learned, but best to teach you early," he chuckled, removing his hands.

Her eyes had drooped shut and she hung in the chains, her chin on her chest. He lightly tapped her cheek with a finger.

"Open those eyes, my little toy."

She did, raising her head to display bright orange eyes that stared up at him blankly.

"Now, kiss me like you mean it."

And she did, and Datavian got his taste of her; after a moment he stepped back, savoring it on his tongue, ignoring the throb of his bitten and bloodied lip, and debated setting her free and ordering her to disrobe.

But why devour the entire treat all at once? Better to leave something to delight in later.

He snapped his fingers and removed the spell of obedience from her, reveling in the look of utter shame and terror that crossed her face when she came to herself.

"You see how easily I could dominate you?" he asked softly, reaching out to wipe away a smudge of his blood from her chin. "I'll leave you to contemplate that, and any further behavior for the future. I treat my pets well, if they behave."

He retrieved his tome, leaving a very dejected-looking Saliea to hunch in on herself, feebly tugging at her chains; whistling a tune to himself, he strode toward the door, but paused and spun around a few feet from it. "Oh, and by the way. I killed the shaman."

Her despairing gasp followed him out of the room, and simply made him smile wider. He didn't actually know whether he had killed the draenei or not, tossing him blinded off the edge of Telaar, but neither did he care. Her pain would eventually wear at her, making breaking her all the more easier; he didn't really like the idea of breaking that fine spirit, but neither did he consider it wise to bed a female that could sprout teeth and fur at will with the intent of gutting him. He'd enjoy prodding at her until he found a crack to exploit, then take his fun until she broke entirely; whether he'd simply set her aside afterward or just kill her, he hadn't decided yet. She had been an unexpected benefit – he had not expected the warlock to favor her as much as he did, and her capture would no doubt send him rushing down the path laid before him. Her life or death meant little, all that mattered was the warlock hate him for taking her.

* * *

Donnovan was enraged.

It was all he could do to remain in the shadows, watching that gods-damned _bastard _take advantage of the helpless little druid. But he had to remain hidden, he had to maintain the illusion of forced loyalty if he was to have any chance, any chance at all...

He waited several long moments after Datavian had left, purposely shoving his hands in his pockets to avoid following the human and killing him; he took a steadying breath, let another long couple of minutes pass before he dropped down off of some spiked instrument of torture and edged out of the shadows. The druid didn't see him, and he was careful to pull his hands free and hold them where she could see him, and to approach slowly and in full view.

Finally she looked up and saw him, the look of despair changing into one of wariness and anger.

"Easy, druid. I mean you no harm," Donnovan said carefully, swallowing when he found his voice was wavering due to suppressed anger.

"Who are you?"

Donnovan chuckled, shaking his head. "That IS the question, isn't it?" He dropped his hands to his side and looked at her, noting that she was beginning to shake in the chill that permeated the dungeon. "My name...is Donnovan. And I have a question in turn for you."

He came a few steps closer, flinching when he saw her pulling back from him as far as her chains would allow. "I...please, I won't hurt you," he said softly. "Just...just please, answer the question I put to you, and give my mind some peace."

She stared at him silently, looking for all the word like a bird ready to spring away in fright. Slowly, with his palms facing her to show he had no weapons, he reached for her manacles, turning her wrists this way and that gently. "I'll undo these...I'm afraid I know no magic to release your feet though." He reached into his belt and withdrew a cloth-wrapped bundle, pulling the cloth away to reveal an oiled leather case, which he opened to reveal a line of orderly lockpicks. He selected one, held it up to show her, then rapidly picked the simple locks on her chains. When she dropped fully to the ground she immediately dropped to her haunches and shoved at him.

Donnovan nimbly dodged and instead of leaping away ducked down with her, catching her hands in his.

"Easy, easy!" he hissed, fighting her frenzied movements.

She snarled like an animal and broke his grip, slamming the heel of her palm into his chin and knocking him over, flat on his back. By the time he had sat back up, the druid had slipped her other foot from her boot and was coming after him.

He rolled aside and to his knees in time to see a look of incredible pain cross her features, her hands flying up to grasp at her head as she fell to her side with an agonized yelp. Donnovan was immediately at her side, wrapping her up in his arms even as she feebly pushed against him.

"Peace, _peace_," he soothed, pinning her arms but making no move to lead her to believe he was a danger.

"What did he do to me?" she whispered, tossing her head.

Donnovan transferred her hands to one of his and caught her chin with his free hand, turning her to face him. A gleaming glyph was on her forehead, throbbing, and he growled.

"Apparently m'lord doesn't want you changing forms."

Again that look of despair came over her, but was quickly hidden behind one of anger.

"Let go of me or kill me," she said bluntly.

"Answer my question first, and then I'll do whatever you ask me to," he said. "I'm going to release you now, I truly mean you no harm."

He let go of her hands and she scrambled away from him on all fours, backing into a corner formed by the wall and by the nearby iron cage, wrapping arms around her legs and pulling them close all the while looking at him with wariness.

Slowly, Donnovan dropped to one knee, resting a hand over it. "Listen closely," he said quietly. "I must know...your mother. What was her name?"

Her expression went blank, and then after a moment she glared stonily at him, silent.

He leaned over his knee toward her, his own expression one of agonized earnest. "I...please, answer me. What was her name?"

Again, she simply stared back silent, lips pursing together.

He took a deep breath. "Was her name...Salindra? Night elf priestess, hair the color of dreamfoil, always bearing the soft scent of water lillies. A high priestess and attendant to Lady Whisperwind. Friend of Fandral Staghelm for centuries." He watched her face carefully; he could see her fighting to control her expression and failing miserably. She was surprised, and...and what? "Tall, willowy. And-" he took a deep breath, for this would surely identify his wife. "-and always, always ill."

The druid was shrinking back as far as she could into the corner, looking into her lap with barely disguised surprise. "I...I refuse to answer that, I -"

Donnovan smiled, an incredible feeling surging through him. "You all ready have, my dear. Salindra was your mother. You have her eyes, the shape of her face." He bent even closer, to peer at her as she stared back, now looking terrified.

"How do you know so much about my mother?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"Your father...he has been missing a very long time, hasn't he?" he asked, his voice cracking. Tears were coming to his eyes and he scrubbed a sleeve at them, swallowing down the urge to burst into sobbing and gather her up into his arms. She fell silent once more, her mouth hanging open, her expression unreadable.

"How do you know so much about...?" she whispered finally.

"Oh, oh sweetheart," he breathed, crawling forward on hands and knees. "I know because I'm him. I'm your father."

She started shaking her head, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Finally she found her voice, looking up at him. "No...no, that cannot...no. No, you can't be him."

"And why not?" he asked, laughing and dashing tears from his face again. "Did Fandral tell you I was dead? No, not dead, only missing. Missing for so long, and missing his wife and...oh gods, how is Salindra?"

Saliea was staring at him, breathing hard as so many things threatened to overwhelm her at once.

He reached for her, not noticing that she shied away from his touch. "I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry I wasn't there. That I haven't been there," he went on in a rush. "Fandral was against sending me, but I had to-"

He abruptly sat back on his heels, resting his face in his hands. "Let me back up...give me a moment to collect my thoughts," he breathed, his voice muffled behind his hands. Sitting there for several long moments, he finally took a deep breath and raised his head, eyes shut.

"Salindra was a beautiful woman...a priestess that I met while I was in service to Fandral Staghelm. She always joked that I was the rogue who stole her heart away," he chuckled, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. "Staghelm sent me places, places he needed someone to be able to get into and out of in short order, unnoticed and not associated with his druids. It was during these multiple little missions that I met her, and not many years after that, we were married." Donnovan let himself fall back off his heels onto his rear end with a thump, pulling his legs close and tucking them under him. "Salindra was an amazing healer, but like most gifts it was a double-edged sword. Her own talents never worked on herself for long, and her mysterious illness eventually progressed to the point that any length of travel tired her incredibly. She used to accompany on what errands she could, but soon enough she had to stay in the temple while I played messenger for Fandral. Fandral was always sure to look after her when I was away, he was such a good friend to both of us..."

Donnovan trailed off, looking up at Saliea and seeing she was shivering. He immediately unbuttoned his armor and tugged it off; it wouldn't fit her, but that wasn't his intention. He folded the sleeves in and handed it to her, sitting there barechested and all but tucking it in around her when she refused to take it. He returned to sitting on his heels, eying her.

"Salindra was with child. There was no mistaking it. It was to be our first, and we were overjoyed. Fandral was careful not to send me anywhere for any long amounts of time, but...he soon had a delicate package he needed delivered to the druids in Silithus. I volunteered, and when he refused me I insisted. Silithus was far away, and would keep me away for weeks, but no one else could handle the job, I thought. I was the best at getting things where they needed to be." He snorted, shaking his head. "My own arrogance pushed me to pester Fandral until he finally relented and let me go...and on my way, I simply...disappeared," he said, trailing his fingers through the air.

"I don't recall what happened. I can't recall what happened. It's gone, wiped from my memory. My thoughts returned to me only a decade or so ago, when I suddenly awoke to myself, and found myself bound in servitude to Datavian." Donnovan spread his hands helplessly. "I can't even tell you how long I've been missing, or what I've done in the time I can't recall. I don't know who or what captured me...Datavian is too young by far to have done it himself. He expressly forbid me from seeking out my wife, but...but I was careful," he said quietly, looking at her with a sad smile. "I didn't mention my wife had been pregnant when questioned about what I remembered of my past. I wasn't forbidden from searching for my child...but I had no way of even starting such a search." Chuckling, Donnovan simply shook his head again. "How amazing that fate should conspire to drop my own child within my reach!"

Donnovan fell silent, seeing images of his wife in his mind; so many memories of the past, so many questions to put to his daughter. How old was she? Who had raised her? Where was Salindra now? Had she remarried? Was his daughter married? Such a rush of questions roaring through his mind...

"I...I don't want to believe you," Saliea finally said, her voice trembling. "And yet part of me wants to, more than anything."

"I can prove my identity to you," he said quietly. He again reached for his belt, then snapped his hands away from his sides when she instinctively flinched. "Easy...I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," he whispered. "In fact, here." Hands working quickly, Donnovan pulled all his daggers free of their sheaths and slid them, one by one, over to her. "There. I am unarmed now."

Again he reached for his belt, going for the small of his back where his most prized possession rested. He pulled it free, a small sack on a leather tie, secured to his belt so he wouldn't lose it; he snapped the tie, as he wouldn't be needing to secure it to himself much longer. Still moving slowly, methodically, he brought it around and revealed it to the druid, then undid the drawstring on the sack and dumped something gleaming into his palm.

He titled his hand down to reveal a silvery locket, square, hanging from a silver chain with a broken clasp. Gently picking up either end of the chain, he held it up for a moment, the locket hanging from a corner to look more diamond-like instead of simply square.

"Here," Donnovan said softly, leaning forward to tip his palm over her hands, dumping the jewelry from his hand to hers.

She fingered it lightly, looking from him down to it. It was silver, mithril judging by the lightness of the metal, and had whitegold filigree, a flowering vine design, scrawled along the edges. It seemed thicker than an ordinary locket, however.

"Open it."

Carefully her fingers felt for the tiny clasp, opening the locket like a book. What was inside made her gasp softly, dumping the contents of the locket into her palm and seeing now why it seemed much thicker than it should have been. A wedding band fell into her hand, a simple band of gold, and remaining inside the locket was a tiny painting of her mother.

"Your mother and I had matching lockets," he explained quietly. "Look inside the band."

Saliea held the ring to her face, squinting in the flickering torchlight. There was something on the inside of it, but whether it was a design or words she couldn't tell in such poor lighting.

"It says 'Donnovan and Salindra. Hearts bound together for eternity,'" Donnovan said, smiling sadly as he stared at the floor. "Have you ever seen your mother's locket?"

Saliea looked up at him, her heart sinking. It was true then...this man, this rogue, was her missing father. She was so many things right now: elated, amazed, happy. But also angry, confused, and above all full of sorrow.

"Oh...my mother, she..." she said, voice cracking. Oh Elune, she was starting to cry. "Oh, my mother died when I was born!"

Donnovan looked as though someone had punched him in the gut. "Wha-what? Dead? My, my Salindra, dead?"

Saliea shook her head. "She did, she died. I spent the earliest moments of my life hovering between the realm of the living and death, and my first few months living in Lord Staghelm's home." She shivered again, tucking her arms under her father's leathers that were draped over her, clenching her fist around the locket and the ring, feeling the corners of the locket bite into her skin. "I was told...I was born too early."

"T-that would certainly e-explain your size," he said, laughing high-pitched and unnatural sounding. He sucked in breath after breath, looking like he was about to break down. "D-dead...and all these years, I've been...I wasn't there, and..." His eyes found hers, and for a moment he looked like a lost little boy, before he blinked and a harder look appeared behind them. "I suppose...I suppose I should have prepared myself for that possibility."

Saliea inched forward, tentatively reaching out toward him. "My name is Saliea...Silvermist."

Donnovan took her hand, smiling through shining eyes again. "Saliea. Did Fandral name you?" She nodded. "Silvermist, I know that family name...a good family." He gently squeezed her fingers. "My name is Donnovan, and my - our," he corrected himself, "our surname is Shadowind."

"Shadowind," she repeated, blinking back tears as she smiled. "That, that will take some getting used to."

Donnovan chuckled. "I don't blame you for thinking that. Perhaps it would be easier for you to simply consider yourself a Silvermist." He pushed himself to his feet, beginning to pace. "I just...I never expected my child to - and to find her, in a dungeon of all places..."

Saliea shifted to sit on her knees, ignoring the cold stone digging into her legs. "I need to escape, I need to - to find out if he really did kill S-sevei and Mikael."

"The shaman and the warlock?" Donnovan asked. Saliea nodded silently, and Donnovan bit his lower lip. "I...can find out for you." He turned on his heel, facing her. "Here's what we shall do...for now, I need you to remain here, now now -" he said, holding up a hand to silence her. "Hear me out. I want you out of here more than anything, and as far from Datavian as possible. And, I would love to come with you but," he said firmly, holding up a finger to once again silence her. "I am enslaved to Datavian, he can kill me with a thought. No...no, it will be best...it will be best if I remain here."

"But, but you can't!" she sputtered. "We've found one another, I can't leave you here!"

He smiled kindly down at her. "Trust me, there is no other place I'd rather be than with you, my daughter, but now is not the time. Trying to escape with you will see us both dead. No, it's best I remain here and appear to be loyal still. I swear to you when the time comes that I shall be at your side in the fight against Datavian, no matter the cost." He came to kneel beside her, pulling her into a hug. "Listen closely. Datavian is mad. I at first thought he was nothing more than another power-hungry would-be dictator, but he's...more than that. He speaks as though he is...it is like he doesn't consider himself here. It's like he is speaking from a place where he looks in on this world, rather than existing within it himself. And he showed me a glimpse of his 'master' and I...I cannot even remember what it looked like, but the terror and power I felt... It changes things, as his potential for destruction could be limitless now with who knows what powering him...whatever he has as his overlord completely overwhelmed my senses," he said grimly, shuddering at the memory of the encompassing darkness. He kissed her forehead. "I must go for now before my absence is noticed. I will do everything I can to keep him away from you, fear not. And when the time comes, I will help you escape from here and return to your friends."

He glanced around, a bitter smile on his face. "I only hope you can endure the surroundings for the time being."

Saliea tugged his leathers off her and handed them back. "If you walk about half-naked, you'll be noticed most certainly." He chuckled and slipped them on. "I can endure. And...father?"

"...you have no idea how it lightens my heart to finally hear someone call me that," he said softly. "What is it?"

"Be careful."

"I will. You hang tight, I'll get you out of here," he said, stroking her hair briefly before hurrying to the door and leaving.

Saliea sat in silence for several hours after that, only paying the briefest attention to her hands as she worked to free her boots from the wall; she was shivering in the dank chill by the time she slipped them back on her feet, brushing rock chips from them.

Her father! Her _real _father! Here and alive!

Thinking of that brought so many emotions to the surface and threatened to make her burst into tears again. On her thumb rested her father's wedding band, her fingers being too small a fit - she had contemplated putting the ring back into the locket she wore around her neck, but couldn't bring herself to tuck the ring out of sight. Both were reassuring weights to her right now, and she needed all the comfort she could get.

Datavian's parting words, about him having killed Sevei, chilled her more than the dungeon did. HAD he killed him? Part of her refused to believe that, and yet there was always that voice of negativity in her mind. She didn't want to believe it, not at all. Wondering what had happened to Sevei, and to Mikael, brought a choking fear to her and she needed clarity of mind right now. She held fast to the hope that it was simply a cruel lie on Datavian's part, and consoled herself with thinking of her shaman.

Eventually, as time wore on, the cold began to take a toll on her. She wedged herself back in that corner formed by the nearby cage and the wall it was shoved against. The wall was slightly warmer than her current body temperature, and she pressed as much of herself against as she could, teeth chattering, and began to closely examine her prison.

Chains hung along the walls, and scattered torture devices that smelled of decay seemed to press in on her. She rubbed her arms briskly and tried thinking warm thoughts, letting her gaze wander. The torches lining the walls gave her the idea of pulling one down for warmth, but a brief examination later showed that the torches were magical and gave off only light, no heat. She returned to her little corner, sighing and shivering.

And then there was a groan from the cage beside her.

Sal nearly jumped out of her skin, scrambling away from the cage and turning to peer, wide-eyed, into the darkness within it. She finally noticed that the cage itself wasn't just shoved up against the wall, it was actually set into the wall and extended back a foot or so. Curled up in the little cubby within the stone was...something...that stared at her with a single, gleaming green eye.

Cautiously, she inched back toward the cage, trying to see some sort of definitive shape in the darkenss, but the shifting shadows from the torches made identifying the object inside the cage impossible. Finally, she yanked a torch down from the wall and stuck it carefully between the bars of the cage, then gasped when its light fell upon what it held.

An incredibly battered blood elf stared up at her, one eye swollen shut and the other glinting in the firelight. A mess of charcoal-black hair was scattered over and around his face, and bruises and poorly healed injuries covered his bare chest, with his lower half disappearing back into the cubby in the wall.

His one eye was staring at her, and as she watched his lips began to move.

"_M-mercy...please...mercy...k-kill me..."_

He was speaking Orcish, and she wondered for an instant what he thought he was seeing when he looked at her, but for now that didn't matter. She quickly looked about, finding the cage door and pulling in frustration against it; it was locked, and she hadn't the faintest idea how to pick a lock, nor did she have anything to pick a lock with. After a few futile moments, she wedged the torch into the space between the door and a bar, then experimentally stuck an arm through the bars. She was small, so maybe...

With a little wriggling, she managed to squirm her way through the bars, rubbing her ears when she got her head through; she imagined she'd have a few nice bruises, but right now her concern was for the male blood elf.

His eye had drooped shut, but he was still whispering over and over again, begging for death. Saliea reached out and grabbed his shoulder, gasping at how cold he felt to the touch, and wondered how long he'd been here in this condition. She went to send healing magic into him, but her forehead burst into such pain that she nearly fell over onto him; rubbing at her head she vaguely remembered her father commenting on Datavian not wanting her to shift, and he was looking at something on her forehead...

It was logical to assume he had sealed her druidic magic, meaning she couldn't heal this elf.

She sighed heavily and bent over him again, gently shaking his shoulder.

"C_an you hear me?"_

His eye fluttered open and fixed on her. "_Please...please just kill...me..."_

He was so cold to the touch...

She retrieved the torch and held it over him, wincing when she saw the extent of the bruising and the scabbing covering most of his body. He was nearly naked, his pants torn to shreds and his legs underneath a mass of purple.

"I need to get you warm..." she muttered aloud, taking a deep breath. Experimentally, she held her hand close to the torch and again felt no warmth; with a deep breath, she plunged her fingers _into_ the flame and, to her great relief, felt no pain. Knowing now that the torch wouldn't harm them, she simply left it laying on the ground above the blood elf's head, then took a deep breath and stretched out next to the male, wrapping arms around him and tugging herself close.

She herself didn't possess a lot of body heat to share, but he needed help and needed it badly. He was so cold he wasn't even shivering anymore; she rubbed her hands - gently - across his chest and arms, trying to coax some warmth into him.

"Come on, you've got the will to live, right?" she whispered, lightly patting his cheek. Groggily, he mumbled something incoherent, and Saliea began to encourage him, talking about anything and everything just to keep the blood elf conscious.

A long period of time passed, and finally she felt she was getting somewhere when he began to push her away and fight to sit up. She disentangled herself from him and sat up herself, looking down into his one good eye.

"_Can you understand me?"_

_ "You are...night elf?"_

_ "Yes, I am. What is your name?"_

_ "M-Malchoir." _He groaned and struggled into a sitting position, despite Sal's protests.

"_You should stay still, you're badly hurt," _she said, leaning forward to offer him support when he began to slowly tip backwards. She ended up tugging him into her lap, and was surprised when he suddenly hugged himself to her middle and began to weep.

"_Thank you...t-thank you," _he sobbed. "_At least n-now I won't die a-alone."_

_ "I won't let you die if I can help it," _she said, stroking the top of his head. She wiggled about, getting her legs out from under him and eyed one of her pantlegs. It was awkward, tearing strips for bandages with a sobbing blood elf in her arms but she managed it, and began to bind those injuries that were still oozing. Eventually she felt the male's breathing slow, and looked down to see his eyelids drooping; some time later he was sleeping soundly in her lap, curled up like a small child.

Sal slid her legs back under him, more to press as much of herself against him as possible to keep him warm than for her own comfort. She stroked the top of his head again, biting at her lower lip and wondering if there was any way she could take the male with her when her father helped her escape.


	18. Chapter 18

"No!" Sal woke with a start, the word 'no' a whisper on her lips. She inhaled, shuddering, feeling hands moving on her, and for a moment couldn't remember where she was until she registered the chill. Malchoir slept on in her lap, undisturbed by her jerking awake; she had forgotten she'd slid over to one of the walls of the cage, to prop herself upright, and she now had an arm trapped awkwardly between the bars. Malchoir too had shifted in his sleep, and his elbow was digging into her, but it wasn't her physical discomfort that had awakened her.

A dream – no, a nightmare – had scared her awake. In it, she was... She remembered being held and caressed, and begging for them to stop, but they hadn't...and she hadn't really fought against them either. She'd looked up, and found herself staring into Mikael's face for a moment, stared into brilliantly blue eyes, before his mouth moved to her shoulder, and she allowed him to continue from shoulder to breasts, and then he'd lifted his face again and it was no longer Mikael, but Datavian...Datavian, with brilliantly blue eyes, glittering with malice.

Her skin still crawled from the memory of hands on her, but her mind was focusing on one particular part of the nightmare: Mikael and Datavian.

She tried to control her shaking as she rolled that segment of the dream over and over in her head, the image of the...of the what? It had been both Mikael and Datavian. The hair, the beard, the expression, those had changed, but that face...and those eyes. The same eyes.

The torchlight was dim in the dungeon and she hadn't been able to get a clear look at her captor so she couldn't recall with clarity what the bastard even looked like...so why was she picturing him with Mikael's face?

"I am losing my mind," she whispered, leaning her head against the bars and resisting the urge to burst into terrified giggles. "It was a nightmare, nothing more...nothing more..."

There was no way of telling how long she'd dozed, and she highly doubted she'd fall back asleep now, so she wiggled a bit - to put the press of the bars somewhere new in her back - and laid her head back, staring aimlessly into the firelight. A whoosh of displaced air some time later made her snap back to awareness, having fallen into a sort of dozing stupor; Donnovan stood in the room, staring about in a state of mild alarm, a small package held under one arm.

"Saliea?" he whispered loudly, looking from where she'd been sitting last he'd been here to gazing around the dungeon.

"In here," she called out softly, sticking an arm through the bars and waving it to get his attention.

He sighed in relief and came over, kneeling down and peering in at her. "How did you get in there?"

"Wiggled through. If you could pick the lock that would be wonderful."

Donnovan nodded and sat the package he held on the floor before reaching for his pack of lockpicks, then doing a double take when his gaze fell on Malchoir. "And what is that?"

"He was in this cage, badly hurt. I tried to heal him, but Datavian has sealed my magic...he needs help," she said, biting her lip as she looked down at the sleeping blood elf.

"I had no idea he was even in here," the rogue muttered, hurriedly unlocking the cage and sticking his head in, holding high the torch Sal had wedged into the door. "He's in bad shape...hold this a moment," he said, pushing the torch into the druid's hands before patting himself down. "Know I have it here somewhere -ah!" He tugged from the top of his boot a thin vial of glass, stoppered and partially filled with a tan cream. "Here. It is a healing salve. Use it sparingly, as I don't have much of it. Only on the worst of it."

Sal took it and popped the cork free and the strong smell of herbs filled the tiny space. "I'll use it wisely."

He nodded, then turned his attention back to the package he'd brought. It was about the size of a small pillow, and when the night elf unrolled the fabric wrapping it he revealed a set of clothing and a blanket. "I brought you this from my own belongings, so it wouldn't be missed...would seem he needs the clothing more than you, however. I shall leave the wrapping too so you have something to bind his wounds with."

Malchoir was stirring now, staring groggily up at Saliea. "_Night elf...?"_

_ "Shush, you're going to be okay," _she said kindly, resting a hand on his cheek. He blinked up at her, then saw Donnovan kneeling over them both and hissed in warning. Saliea restrained him when he tried sitting up, like he meant to protect her from Donnovan, and gently pulled him back into her lap once he'd calmed down. "_Easy, he is an ally."_

Donnovan was rapidly tearing the cloth into strips as Sal untied the scraps she'd torn from her own clothing and bandaged the blood elf with, and together they quickly salved and then re-bandaged his injuries; Donnovan then helped the elf dress himself.

"I might be able to swipe a pair of boots from somewhere..."

_"My e-equipment," _Malchoir said suddenly. "_Where is it?"_

"He wants to know where his equipment went," Saliea translated.

"I don't know, but I can try to find out, and try to find your things as well," he added. Carefully he stepped out of the cage, shutting the door but jamming a lockpick into the lock and snapping it off. "Now it will close, but not re-lock on you," he explained. "I can't stay long...Datavian is sidetracked with something big. What it is, I don't know, but he likely won't take time to come down here for the time being. The opportunity for your escape likely draws near."

Saliea nodded, then the contents of her nightmare sprang to her mind. "Father, wait a moment." Donnovan paused, one foot poised as though he were about to walk off. "You...have no doubt been following me and those I traveled with, yes?

He nodded. "Yes. Datavian had me watching you closely at first. Why?"

"What...did the warlock look like, to you?"

"What did he look like? Like, describe him?" She nodded. "Well...he had long black hair, black leather last I saw him. Pretty handsome fellow by human standards I'd say," he said dryly. "Why do you ask?"

Sal rubbed her temples. "Humor me. Go on."

"Uh, okay, let me think..." Donnovan tapped two fingers against his forehead, thinking. "Average height, decent build. Blue eyes, if I'm not mistaken...again, why ask me this?"

"Does he remind you, of anyone at all?"

Donnovan shook his head. "Not that I can recall. _Why?"_

"Picture his face, picture it clearly...and remove the hair, and slap a beard on him."

"I really don't see what you're getting at- haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa," he breathed, eyes widening and jaw dropping open. His mouth worked open and closed silently for several long moments; Saliea let the quiet stretch on, then shook her head with a helpless chuckle.

"So I'm not losing my mind then," she laughed, lightly banging her head against the bars of the cage.

"I...I can't see how I never noticed that..._"_ Donnovan sputtered, actually pulling out a small tuft of hair from his own patchy beard. He began to pace, eyes still wide in surprise. "...if memory serves, they could almost be twins...but that couldn't be, right? They are not related?"

Saliea shrugged, still giggling with her forehead jammed against the bars of the cage. "I don't know, but at least I know I'm still sane."

Donnovan began to pat himself down again. "This makes me want my pipe, where did I put the blasted thing?" Giving up after a few moments, the rogue took a deep breath and held it a minute, then exhaled slowly. "Okay. Calm. Now...this really could mean anything...but humans admittedly can look similar to one another without being related. This is very odd to consider, however...perhaps I can later find out something to that effect, but I know I can't stay here much longer or I'll be missed." He took several steps backward, toward the door. "I shall take my leave now, and...think on this."

Malchoir was now sitting up by himself, looking much better as the salve began to work on him, and so Saliea was free to spring to her feet and out of the cage, running up to Donnovan. She paused before him, looking uncertain, but then threw her arms around him in a hug.

"Thank you, father," she whispered.

Donnovan looked shocked at first but then returned the hug with fervor. "Anything, anything for you. Hang in there, my daughter. This will all be over soon." He held her out at arm's length, smiled, then hurried away, the door's slamming echoing in the dungeon.

Saliea returned to the cage, sliding in next to the male. "_Do you feel better?"_

_ "I...yes. I do. Why did you help me?" _he asked warily, plucking at the plain linen he wore now.

She smiled at him. "_It's not in my nature to simply let anyone die. How long were you in that state? Why are you here?"_

He shook his head. "_Hard to tell, a few days perhaps? I was on an assignment, got captured. Woke up in this pit, with that man over me, demanding I serve him. I refused, and from there...all I remember is pain." _ Shaking his head and shuddering, Malchoir hugged himself. "_Pain, and...and terror. More fear than I've ever felt in my life. I was begging for death by the time he grew bored with me." _He looked at her curiously, then nodded toward the door Donnovan had left by. "_What was that all about?"_

_ "I'm...not sure myself, actually,"_ she said, shaking her head. "_We just noticed something we hadn't before. I don't know what to make of it." _They fell into silence, Saliea brooding and Malchoir shivering; finally she had the sense to grab the blanket Donnovan had left behind and motion him over. "_Come on, so we both don't freeze."_

He moved over, and this time instead of him laying in her lap Saliea pressed herself up against his side, tossing the blanket over them both and tucking her end of it in around her body. Malchoir shifted, throwing an arm around her, and they leaned silently up against the bars together, their collective body heat eventually warming the blanket and each other.

This close to him, Saliea couldn't help but study him. He looked older than she'd thought, with lines around his mouth and eyes. A small goatee, ragged now but likely once well-kept, adorned his otherwise hairless face, and his dark gray hair hung in clumps around his shoulders. He caught her staring and glanced down at her, his eyes glinting at her both with their own glow and by reflecting the torchlight.

"_What?"_

_ "Nothing. You just seem tired," _she said. "_How are you feeling?"_

He snorted, laughing under his breath. "_Horrible, but I assure you it's not the injuries this time."_

She tilted her head. "_Is something else wrong?"_

_ "I am a blood elf, there is _always _something else wrong," _he replied bluntly, swallowing hard and looking away from her.

"_Oh."_

This time the silence was uneasy, Sal mentally berating herself for drawing attention to his and all other blood elves's little 'problem.' "_I wish...I could heal you,"_ she said finally.

"_Don't we all..." _he muttered.

She elbowed him in the ribs hard. "_I meant your injuries."_

_ "Why can't you?"_

_ "Datavian sealed my magic. I cannot use it," _she said quietly, staring at her lap.

Malchoir shifted, leaning away and looking down at her. "..._sealed it, you say? How?"_

_ "I can't be sure. All I know is if I try to access my magic, my mind burns and...I think a glyph or something appears on my forehead, where he cast the spell,"_ she said, placing two fingers to her head in the approximate location of where the pain radiated from. "_It disrupts anything I try casting."_

Malchoir reached a trembling hand out to her. "_I...I think I can...help. May I?"_

_ "What do you plan on doing?" _she asked carefully, leaning toward his hand but keeping her eyes on his.

"_You'll see,"_ he said softly, placing his hands on either side of her face and pulling her to him. Saliea made a feeble attempt to struggle, but instead of kissing her lips as she was expecting, he instead pressed his mouth to her forehead, his breath hot and heavy on her face.

"_What are you - oh..." _ she breathed, as the sensation began.

Whatever Malchoir was doing, it felt like a second skin she didn't even know she was wearing was being peeled off her, from her toes upward to where his lips rested on her forehead. The skin-crawling sensation faded into something that felt like a gentle tug at her midsection, and she suddenly realized what he was doing - he was siphoning magical energy from her, but targeting only the binding spell that held her own magic in check.

She closed her eyes against the strange feeling, feeling him adjust himself over her so he wasn't craning his neck at an odd angle, and for an eternity it seemed he fed. Finally he broke contact with her and with a shuddering sigh sat back on his heels; Sal, her face no longer held, fell backwards in surprise, slumping down the bars behind her and staring up at him. He had shifted so he straddled her, and with a moan he swept down and pressed his lips to hers in a rough kiss.

Sal grunted around his mouth and shoved him up and away. "_Malchoir!"_

His head lolled and he released another shuddering sigh. "_S-sorry...it just...I wish I could s-hare with you you how it feelssssss...the sensation of power, of magic coursing through the body...glorious," _he hissed, half-falling off her to lay by her side, a satisfied look on his face. "_Perhaps I could find a way, if you were up to it...?"_

_ "No thank you," _she murmured, momentarily ignoring him as she sought her magic inside her, and, holding her breath, summoned up a tiny bit of it.

There was no pain, no searing agony of any sort. Malchoir's magical feeding had broken the binding spell. With a smile she turned to face him, in time to fend off an attempt of his to pull her down on top of him.

"_Malchoir, really, I'm a taken woman."_

_ "Doesn't mean you shouldn't take a moment to have fun when the opportunity arises," _he said languidly with a wave of his hand.

"_Right. Come here."_

His eyes widened and he sat up eagerly, only to be met by her outstretched hands; she pressed her palms flat against his chest and sent healing energies through them and into him. After a moment she stopped and reached for his shirt. "_Off. Let me look."_

_ "Anything for you," _he murmured, yanking his shirt off and sitting there still with a look of satisfaction on his face – Saliea had heard of the blood elves being addicted to magic but she hadn't thought it would be like an addiction to a drug or an alcohol, something that gave a euphoric high when indulged in...apparently, she had been wrong.

She unwound a few bandages, nodding at the scars. "_You're closed up. You can take the bandages off and put your shirt back on." _ She tossed his shirt into his face as his hands idly stroked her thigh and gave him a shove, uncomfortable thoughts of her nightmare resurfacing. "_Take your clothing and go sit over there until you cool off."_

Malchoir grumbled and moved to the corner she pointed to. "_Another time then."_

_ "Not likely."_

He tugged his shirt back over his head, curling up much like a large house cat Saliea thought, and she could hear him breathing as he enjoyed the sensation of having absorbed magic. She tucked the blanket in around herself and stretched out, pillowing her head on her arm; after a while she felt the blanket tugged gently out from under her and felt the chilled blood elf sliding in under with her. Without uttering a word she let him, not even protesting when he slid an arm around her and pulled himself close; Sal could feel him shivering against her and knew his holding her was because he was cold and not because he was amorous. After several moments of feeling him shiver against her back, Saliea edged away and shifted forms. Malchoir didn't seem to mind that he was now cuddling a panther instead of a woman, and simply buried his face into the fur at her shoulder and sighed deeply.

Saliea lay and listened to him breathe; his euphoria seemed to be gone, along with his advances toward her, but her mind was, and would have been, elsewhere even if she had been the type to engage in casual sexual activities. Again her nightmare sprang to mind, and the realization -confirmed by Donnovan - that Datavian and Mikael wore the same face, well...the only logical explanation for that was...

No, no, she didn't want to explore that idea, didn't want to think what it meant. Donnovan was right, humans could look surprisingly similar without bearing any blood relation whatsoever.

She laid her head on her paws, letting out a whuffling sigh that ruffled her whiskers. She didn't want to think of Mikael, or Datavian, or all of this; instead, she let her mind focus solely on Sevei, and the hope that the news of his death was simply a cruel joke. Sleep would not come easy this night.

* * *

"What do you think you're doing? Come away from there!"

Mikael ignored the soldiers as they raced up behind him, flexing his fingers around the hilt of Spellcleaver and eying the gate.

"I'm the warlock you sent for to come handle this," he replied curtly, roughly pulling himself free of a grasping hand as he spoke. "I see the solution and I'm going to act upon it. You should all step back."

The soldiers - two Broken, a male draenei, and a female gnome of all things – glared at him, the Broken flanking the warlock while the draenei reached for him again.

"Are you mad? Come away from-"

"Get back," Mikael interrupted, throwing the draenei's hands from him. "Get everyone back."

"What are you-"

"I said get back!" he snapped, whirling on them. "I can see the so-called master of this gate and I plan to call it out of hiding, I don't know what it is yet, get _back!_"

They backed away rapidly, and Mikael felt a pressure at his back that told him it wasn't his words that had made them move. He instinctively thrust behind him, causing the demon erupting from the portal to impale itself on his blade; the injury didn't slow it, but Mikael igniting it did. He shoved the flaming carcass off him and spun as the gate shimmered and appeared to break into two separate portals.

"There you are," he growled, lifting his sword above his head, forgetting about the soldiers behind him. He wouldn't need to force the demon to show itself, it would seem – it was more than willing to come challenge him.

The fake gate bent in half, and the air around it flickered like a heat wave; around the gate something was materializing, the air rippling like muscle. Mikael didn't step away as the gate - no, the mouth - lowered itself to his level and grinned widely. It could swallow Mikael in one go, but he stood fearlessly and even tapped his sword against a protruding tooth.

"Can you speak? Are you even intelligent?" he asked. The mouth - for it was still just a mouth - growled. "Very well then. Know I intend to destroy you, and in turn destroy that gate," he went on, jerking a finger in the direction of said gate.

The thing came into sight fully, looking like a coiled worm; its body was a sickly blue and scaled, not segmented, and when it reared up it stood high above the trees, never mind how far it towered over Mikael. Four sets of ruby eyes glared down at him, and a forked tongue the width of Mikael's forearm flicked out of the mouth, the only thing the head seemed to be made of.

"Damn, you're ugly," Mikael said lightly, flipping his sword over in his hand. "A nice idea, to place your mouth behind the gate and shield yourself, placing your body partially on this plane and partially on that of the demonic plane. I commend you. It took quite a powerful spell to hide something as big as you. I'm still going to destroy you, but I commend you." He angled the sword point upward, at the demon. "Come on then."

It came. From its mouth boiled a bolt of pure energy, with Mikael dancing aside as it struck the ground and gouged out a decently-sized crater. Mikael ran to the left, watching the head tracking him; he waved the soldiers away irritably, then leapt for the coiled tail of the beast. "Go, run! Watch the gate!"

As the soldiers scrambled back toward the camp, more likely to raise an alarm than to actually follow the warlock's order, Mikael too hurried away; he tucked his knees to his chest as he jumped over the tip of the demon's tail, hitting the ground and rolling back to his feet in a sprint. He could feel the ground under him rumbling as the demon moved, no doubt turning to follow him - the demon was incredibly powerful now that he could sense it fully, but Mikael didn't think it was too smart, and it certainly wasn't very fast.

His judgment of the thing's approximate power proved correct when a roiling ball of energy shot over his head and obliterated a nearby tree, showering Mikael in super-hot splinters that sliced like tiny blades. If he was hit by one of those blasts, there wouldn't be any saving him as there wouldn't be anything left; Mikael spun around, deciding it would be better to see anything coming at him than trusting to his own instincts to dodge. He looked from the demon to his sword, and vaguely began to wonder how he ever imagined he could do anything against something so big when he was forced to dodge another incoming blast - the demon was firing them from its mouth, and the blasts themselves were about the size of a cannonball and so relatively easy to dodge...but a single hit would spell the end for the warlock dodging them.

"Need a plan," he muttered, beginning to run back the way he'd come, firing repeated bolts of shadow from one hand as he moved. He grimaced when they simply reflected off the scales covering its body. "All right, need another plan."

Again the demon tried turning to follow Mikael as he dove over the tail and kept moving, but it was simply too slow to keep up with its much-smaller target. Taking a chance, Mikael charged and struck out at a section of tail; Spellcleaver dug in deep and sliced a sizable gash through demon flesh without any resistance, bringing a fierce grin to the warlock's face. Apparently, the scales weren't much of a defense against physical attack.

Physical attack...

"Oh holy hells below," Mikael groaned. Physical attacks meant exactly that - it had to be physical, which also meant close-range for him. Carving this thing up with just Spellcleaver would take him a lifetime! He growled and sprang away, mind racing to come up with something new.

Off in his periphery vision he could see a larger group of soldiers heading his way, and only then did he notice the stream of demons coming from the gate. He really hoped the soldiers had a plan to deal with the demons coming from the gate, and _then _worry about what to do about the big one...and he really hoped he'd come up with a plan for the big one really soon.

* * *

"Take control of the forces assaulting the gate," Savion ordered, striding outside of the inn.

"Of course my husband, but where are you going to go?" Sechi asked, following at his heels.

"Go wring the warlock's neck, what else?" he said dryly. He turned, spying Sevei behind his wife. "Son, I'd like you to go with your mother, she will need your strong arm there - get yourself some armor first though," he added, blinking as he suddenly realized Sevei wasn't wearing any. "What happened to your mail?"

"A demon happened to my mail," Sevei said bluntly. "I'll find another set and join you shortly." He spun on his heel and stomped off.

"Okay, I'm off, I - where is the priest?" Savion asked then, looking around in surprise.

"I don't know, he was with us a moment ago," Sechi replied, looking just as surprised to find that Tebrion was no longer following them. "No matter. We must leave. It is not as though he wouldn't know where to find us."

Savion nodded, then raised a clenched fist. "Alaos, to me!" With a crackle of energy and a burst of light, the celestial mount bound to Savion appeared, tossing its head and stomping the ground in anticipation of the coming battle, the great elekk's holy armor blinding them. The large draenei climbed astride the elekk, blew a kiss to his wife, and then sped away, up the bridge to the north.

Sechi watched him go, a look of worry on her face; she knew her husband well, knew he thrived on being in the thick of things, and prayed that the Light would protect him. Footsteps behind her heralded the return of Sevei. Turning, she saw him tugging a shirt of mail over his head, frowning at it slightly; it wasn't fitted to him, but it would serve better than no armor at all.

"Come son," she said, calling out to her own elekk Makaos. She leapt to its back, helping her son settle on behind her before directing Makaos to head for the gate.

* * *

Mikael was beginning to tire from his game of cat and mouse with the demon; several large gashes pumped black, oily blood to the earth, but the demon hardly seemed to notice the injuries. And it was getting smarter. Now, instead of turning its entire body, it was getting into the habit of rolling over instead of moving its bulk; it turned to track him much faster now, and it was getting harder and harder to score any hits against it without being in danger of being suddenly crushed. Mikael was also running out of ideas - the demon proved invulnerable to any magic, even when he targeted the gashes he had made with Spellcleaver.

"You're shielded, you have to be," he muttered to himself, using a large rock as a springboard to dive away from a sweep of the tail. "No creature in existence is completely immune to magic."

Yes, it had to be some sort of shield protecting this thing, and he wished he knew how to find it. The creature itself didn't exude any magical energy, aside from what it was flinging from its mouth, and so for once Mikael was at a loss. Briefly he wondered - while rolling aside from another tail swipe as liquid, likely blood, spattering his face and arms - if the draenei and their forces here had any sort of siege weapons, for those would be incredibly useful right now.

He rolled up flat against a tree and paused, breathing heavily; that mouth was turning for him again and he would need to move soon. When it was facing him and opening that cavern of a mouth, Mikael went to dodge...and found himself stuck to the tree by a sleeve.

"What-?" he gasped, tugging at the trapped garment. It was glued fast to the bark, almost like...

Almost like the liquid he'd been spattered with wasn't blood at all, but something else.

He didn't have time to ponder it, as that mouth was opening and energy was forming, obliteration at its best. A few more desperate tugs revealed he couldn't free himself, and so he growled as he flipped Spellcleaver over in his hand and ripped it over the shoulder seam of his robes; now, with a fierce yank, Mikael came free, leaving the sleeve pinned to the tree as he dove away. When he stood, the mysterious gunk on his remaining sleeve was coated with grass pulled free from the ground; he cautiously touched a finger to the grass and found it non-sticky and nodded, satisfied for the moment. He couldn't really do anything for the stuff on his face; he could feel it clinging to him, and more than anything wanted to wipe it clean, but he now knew that to be a very bad idea.

Mikael rushed beyond the demon, and groaned when it simply rolled itself over and was immediately facing him again. With a grunt, Mikael dove toward the only available safe place left to him - directly against the body of the demon itself - as another thundering burst of energy vaporized a good chunk of the ground where he'd been standing. Belatedly, Mikael discovered the source of the sticky gunk when he found the remaining shoulder of his robes stuck fast to the creature; luckily no skin of his was caught, but Mikael knew there'd be no cutting himself free this time. Before his eyes, and even as he worked to unfasten his robes, more of the ensnaring liquid - a pale liquid, like snot - began to seep from beneath the scales.

"Come on, come on," he chanted, working one-handed to pull his robes from him. He was nearly free of them when the demon abruptly shifted, finally having realized where its prey had gone, and Mikael shouted in dismay when he found his bare arm now pressed into the gunk. Now, the section of body he was pinned to began to move, lifting up and forcing Mikael's body closer to it; the warlock now found his entire left side stuck fast, and the ground was rapidly falling away beneath his feet, gravity and movement forcing more of his body flat against the creature - he was like an insect caught in tree sap, and he was now out of ideas.

'I'm sorry, Saliea. I guess I'll see you soon.'

He was lifted up and now he dangled over the demon's grinning mouth. Mikael grimly prepared for the rending that was no doubt coming, having caught a glimpse of the flash of teeth as long as his arm inside that mammoth mouth. He braced himself, wondered what death felt like, and then with a start felt the gunk holding him give way and he slid down, down into the yawning opening beneath his feet - it didn't intend to chew him, apparently, which was a small relief as he plummeted down into the mouth.

Mikael bounced over the tongue and saw the throat looming ahead of him. Desperately he reached out for something, anything, to halt his forward momentum toward the throat, but the tongue beneath him was twice his size and was working against him. With a shout Mikael felt himself tip over the back and begin to fall even as he shoved his hands down to try and catch himself.

He didn't fall far as the walls of the esophagus pressed in, slowing him down and forcing his head up - with his head up, a small pocket of air moved down with him as utter darkness and slick muscle pressed in. His mind was currently panicking; he was being swallowed! Bad things awaited him at the end of this mucus-lined tunnel! Strong muscles pushed in all around him, pushed him down, and Mikael felt himself beginning to despair. Kicking out, he tried finding a hold anywhere to stop his descent, but everything was slick and smooth and downward he kept going. His hands were pinned tightly to his sides, so any type of intricate spellcasting wasn't an option either...now what?

He tightened his grip on his sword and briefly wondered how long the throat was, and then nearly shouted at himself for his stupidity. He was still holding Spellcleaver, the sword was pressed in against his side and he wondered that he hadn't cut himself on it already, but he still had the sword! Now he just needed a bit of room to use it...

Wiggling didn't do much in the way of creating room, and he understood he wouldn't be able to lift his arm, so now what?

'Focus,' he told himself sternly. 'Think. The sword is resting down your leg, point-down. That is something. What can you do with this?' Mikael was trying very, very hard to avoid thinking about what was waiting for him down in the stomach, his final destination if he couldn't stop himself...and there was also the issue of his tiny air pocket running out and him suffocating anyway, even if he managed to halt his downward movement.

'One thing at a time!' he shouted at himself. 'You won't need to worry about breathing when this thing is digesting you!'

He began to try and wiggle around some again, to gain enough free space - even if just for a second - to move his sword arm. As an afterthought, he sucked in a breath and held it.

'Come on, I can't die here!'

* * *

_He has been captured. His soul will be vulnerable. _

Datavian nodded from where he sat cross-legged in a circle formed of his most loyal cultists. They sat silently around him, being unable to hear the voice whispering to the man, but believing in him nonetheless; they had seen his power, they wanted a piece of that power for themselves, and so they would willingly serve, willingly die for a chance to glimpse this power. It was a group of people so blinded by greed that Datavian had been able to expertly manipulate them all these years...not that he hadn't had help from his lord, of course.

"If we snare him this early, then what?" Datavian asked calmly, licking dry lips.

_You know what you must do._

"I will not fail you." Datavian settled his robes around him, for once without his tome and his staff - he had been informed he didn't need them anymore, and he wholly trusted the word of his master. The tome was secreted away, the staff now in the hands of another of his master's chosen ones, and Datavian couldn't help but feel a smug sense of satisfaction at the knowledge that his master found him unneeding of such trinkets.

"I am ready, my lord."

_Then let us begin.  
_Datavian gestured, and the cultists around him began to chant, channeling power into him; to Datavian it felt as though his mind was enlarging, spreading wide open under the additional power. When his master threw power behind that of the cultists, Datavian felt like a god. The whole world felt open, ready for him to take if he'd only extend a hand...

But no. He needed to focus on the task given him. It took little effort, with so much energy coursing through him, to locate the warlock and to twist a tendril of magic around him. To his magically-enhanced senses, the human truly did look weakened, cracked under the pressure - a being of pure light shot through with veins of darkness. Understanding flooded through him, flowing from his lord: the light of the soul, worn down by tragedy and sorrow, and being pulled apart by conflicting emotion and sense of duty. Within his mind a voice cried out, and Datavian roughly silenced it. Now was not the time for needless distraction from a bleeding heart.

_Now. Let us speak to our friend..._

* * *

It was maddeningly frustrating, and more than disheartening. Twice Spellcleaver had cut, twice it had slipped and Mikael slid ever further toward his doom. He couldn't even slide a hand into the cuts made, and the smell of the demon's rank blood was making him dizzy.

'This is truly it, then. I am finished.'

The thought was depressing more than terrifying, and grimly Mikael began thinking of the most destructive spell he knew that he could cast under these conditions. He'd already tried casting a few spells, but the immense size of the creature had made it almost seem pointless; he knew that, far above him in the throat, that the demon had several spells of corruption devouring away the flesh, but at the rate the spell was going Mikael would be long dead before it did enough damage to seriously hurt the demon, or enough so that the spell caught up to where the warlock slid down the throat to give him some sort of hope of breaking free.

'Very well then. If I am to end here, then I shall end spectacularly,' he thought grimly. He blew out a breath, and began to slowly recite an incantation - a spell that would surely destroy him as well as most of the flesh around him. No way the demon could ignore _that._

As he chanted, he swore he'd felt a tendril of energy brush by, but that was likely just a side effect of being disoriented, or of him desperately searching for any sort of escape from this end. Mikael even waited to see if he'd feel it again, but there was nothing.

He was nearly done with the incantation when the tendril brushed him again, stronger.

_Greetings, little one. It would seem you are in need of assistance?_

Mikael stumbled over his words, ruining the spell. Who said that?

_I am a friend, dear warlock, and I am here to help you._

'Great, now I'm losing my mind.'

_I'm no figment of your imagination, my dear one. Please, just listen. You can defeat this behemoth, but not as you are right now. I can show you how, if only you would trust me._

'I'm being asked to trust the voices I'm hearing on the eve of my death...could this day get any worse?' Mikael thought in morbid amusement. 'Very well, say I trust you. What can you tell me that I haven't thought of myself?'

_You only need open your mind to me, and I shall show you the path._

Thinking that he had little to lose as it was, Mikael sought the thread of power that kept pushing at him, and opened himself to it. Immediately he gasped, feeling a surge of power rush through him and wrap around his consciousness like a friendly hug.

_There you are...now, follow me..._

Mikael felt like he was floating in warm water, but somehow felt a sense of direction in the midst of all the energy. He felt himself swim down, down, until he came to what only be his core...and was surprised to see an actual sphere of some hard, blackened material there in center of his being.

'What is this?'

_For so long you have worked to become stronger, for so long you have missed this great and wondrous gift that lay at the core of your essence. It has always been here! Growing, as you yourself have grown. You know this to be true – this is what pains you when you push your limits, but the pain has taught you to stay away, when you must instead push through the pain to realize your true potential. I know what you believe – that this pain will kill you, but I know otherwise. You cannot be afraid to use this gift, little one. Here it is, grasp it. Take it for your own and let nothing – no fear, no pain, no bonds or ties – stop you from achieving the strength you so desire._

Mikael cautiously reached out to the sphere, felt it, sensed that there were tendrils of energy that snaked out from it and through his entire being. This was power, this was strength...this was exactly what the voice promised him it was. And it had been here all along; that nonsense Meraka had warned him about, about battlecasters being unable to handle the energy...that didn't apply to him, did it?

_It does not. You are different. You are special. Push yourself, warlock. Push!_

Mikael pulled at the core and felt it react, felt a painful but incredibly powerful rush of energy flood his being.

He opened his eyes – when had he shut them? - and they glowed a dull orange. He turned his gaze again to the walls of flesh pushing in around him, his body literally vibrating with power. The voice, and the tendril of power that had guided him, seemed to be gone now...but that didn't matter. Mikael needed no explanation on how he was now going to escape the demon's throat.


	19. Chapter 19

The words came to him without hardly a thought. No longer was he worried about harming himself or burning up what precious air he had left; Mikael released a spell of hellfire unlike one he had ever cast before. Instead of the usual sting resulting from the spell, he only felt a pleasant warmth spread from his feet upward - this spell should have killed him in truth, but he remained alive; the demon flesh around him wasn't so protected from the devastation, however.

Flesh ignited, boiled, vaporized. A spectacular fountain of gore exploded outward from the throat, centered on Mikael's location. To the nearby fighters - demon and soldiers alike - it appeared the giant worm-like beast simply dissolved into a rain of meat gobbets and a spray of blood. Mikael stood in the middle of it all and laughed as the waves of magic surged through him; he stood upon the remains of the neck, knee-deep in raw flesh, head back and laughing.

Below him everyone stared, unsure what to make of him; unknown to the warlock, he was releasing a strange aura, an orange corona shot through with gold and purple. Perhaps it was this aura that was blurring his vision, making everything below him appear as indistinct figures moving against the backdrop of green field.

_I have you now._

Mikael felt gentle nudging from the voice in his head, one he thought had left him once he'd tapped into his core, urging him to release his magics upon those gathered at the base of the gate. How easily he could wipe them from existence, with all this amazing power!

And what power it was! He could feel every type of magic known racing through him – the Light, the fel, nature and arcane. His skin tingled with all the energies coursing through him, and this had been here all along? How could he have not known he had such an ability? How could he not have sensed such a wellspring? How could he have allowed such a pathetic thing as pain keep him from this amazing, almost god-like power?

_Go on...go on! Destroy them._

The voice urged him again, again directed his attention to both the attackers and defenders that were on the ground below where he hovered. Yes, yes, he should! He leveled his hand down at them, a look of absolute glee on his features. A crackling ball of pure light, purple tinged with gold, formed at his fingertips. As he prepared to release the blast, his vision suddenly cleared with astounding clarity, in time to see a human female get speared through the gut by a felguard's wicked axe.

_Release it!_

But wait...he could...he could help that female! He felt he could.

_No! They matter not! You must destroy them!_

But if he could save them, why shouldn't he try? Mikael focused on the energy in his hand, bending it to his will, and stripped out the destructive essence and instead replaced it with the gentle, golden comfort of the Light he felt coursing through him. He hurled it over his head, the traces of purple and orange light peeling away from the main golden core like layers of an onion; the golden ball of light hit the ground at the woman's feet and detonated, searing away the armor and skin of the attacking felguard and mending the woman's wound in an instant. Her look of stunned amazement brought a frenzied grin to Mikael's own face.

He could heal AND harm! What incredible -

"AAAAAAAAGGGGH!" The scream ripped from him with a suddenness that even he hadn't been expecting. A searing pain tore through his chest and his head, and the voice within his mind screamed with him. He felt the voice thrown violently from him, knew that now it was truly gone and felt like an immense weight was lifted from him; all that was left was the warm, gentle embrace of something he had not felt since his childhood...

'What just happened...wait, no! NO!' The warmth left him abruptly, and Mikael felt that imaginary barrier in his mind slam shut as the glorious power of the Light left him despite his desperate attempts to cling to it. 'Come back! Wait! Please!'

'Don't leave me again!'

Darkness clouded his vision, and only then did Mikael fully understand that he'd been levitating. He began to double over even as he plummeted, his chest feeling like it was on fire; what would happen when he hit the ground was the furthest thing from his mind as the ground rapidly grew closer – his chest was on fire. The pain he knew, the pain he'd been grappling with all his life, was all he could focus on as he fell; it felt as though his body was attempting to rip itself apart and the sensation was far, far worse than any of the other times Mikael had experienced it.

Eyes sliding shut, Mikael gave in and let himself slip away - at least he wouldn't be awake through the pain, though it likely wouldn't last much longer.

* * *

"There! Dive!"

He felt the hippogryph under him jerk as it managed to grasp the plummeting human just barely by the hem of his robe. Tebrion glanced over the side, biting his lower lip as he looked the warlock up and down; Mikael was covered in blood, but there was so much on him that the priest couldn't tell if he was injured or not.

"Ye got the lad?" Duncan shouted over the rush of the wind.

"Barely! Can you have someone fly under me just in case?" Tebrion shouted back.

The dwarf nodded and motioned, and one of the gryphon riders flying with them broke formation and slid into position below and just behind Tebrion's hippogryph. Duncan saluted Tebrion with a small mace, then signaled the rest of his men; together the dwarf and the remaining five riders swung away, heading back toward the battle at the gate.

"Oi lad! Hold steady and I kin' grab the boy!"

Tebrion hugged the hippogryph's sides with his knees, clucking to it; the beast hissed but held itself on a somewhat-steady course. Tebrion leaned down to peer over its side and watched as the dwarf drew a long-bladed dagger and simply slashed at the robes, carving off a huge section of the cloth and leaving Mikael free to drop into the dwarf's free arm.

"Let's get to the tents!" Tebrion called over to him.

The dwarf nodded, shifting Mikael to slump the human over the gryphon in front of him, then together they wheeled in the air and dove for the ground, going into a glide when they were close enough.

Beyond the battle, back near the command tents, they came to a halt and Tebrion leapt from his mount and hurried to where the dwarf was carefully lowering Mikael flat to his back in the grass. The priest looked from the warlock over to where, far off in the distance, the remains of the demon lord still lay, a huge hunk of dead meat.

"What, did the lad let it swallow 'im whole?" the dwarf asked, also staring off in that direction, shielding his eyes as Tebrion began to will healing magics into Mikael.

"Appears that way..." he muttered in between prayers. "He had better have an explanation when he...wakes," Tebrion said, trailing off when Mikael's eyes opened. "Are you all right?"

Mikael simply stared at him, then pushed him away as he rolled to his side, clutching at his chest and even giving a dry heave or two before curling into a ball. "It's not fair..."

The night elf looked at him in confusion. "What happened? What's not fair?"

Mikael glared at him. "I felt it. The Light. It came to my call again...and then left me. It's not fair. It's cruel." He was breathing hard and sweating so profusely that the blood that coated him was beginning to wash away. The man's gaze slid to the ground. "Why would it come, only to leave me again? _Why?"_

"I know not, friend," Tebrion said quietly, hesitantly reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. "But, for right now, we need to shut that gate. How do we do that? How did you destroy that massive...thing?"

"I blew it up from the inside," came the quiet answer. "I...I'm not sure how I did it. But with it gone, destroying the gate should be simple." Mikael rubbed at his head, thinking.

Suddenly his mind felt foggy. He remembered the almost loving embrace of the Light and the fiery touch of arcane and elemental magics...and even remembered the gentle and soothing touch of nature magics, but, hadn't there been something else? Someone else? Why did he have this distinct feeling he hadn't been fighting alone? "I - give me a moment to think," he said slowly, closing his eyes. His chest ached with a pain he'd never known before, not to this degree, and the harder he fought to focus his thoughts the more his chest throbbed. He had pushed as hard as he could, and had almost paid the price for it...perhaps Meraka was right after all, but given the hopelessness of his situation, perhaps he also couldn't be blamed.

'Dwell on it later,' he told himself, suddenly feeling very tired. "I think with the destruction of the big demon, the gate should be vulnerable." He rubbed again at his chest...what had he been doing? The sudden fogginess to his immediate memory almost bothered him more than the agony in his chest.

Rubbing his chest then informed him that his robes were half-unfastened and hanging off him where they weren't matted to him with sticky goo and congealing demon blood. With one hand he finished unfastening them and let the robes fall fully open. They were a lost cause, he knew – there would be no repairing them, and so he simply just wanted them off his body. He turned to look at Tebrion.

"Could...could you give me a hand? I won't have energy for much else after this."

The priest simply blinked at him a moment. "Well, of course, but...what do you plan to do?"

Mikael smiled faintly. "Send my regards, of course." He struggled into a sitting position, giving another dry heave as his chest protested and his exhausted body threatened to fail him. He nearly fell over as his knees began to buckle as he tried standing, but Tebrion stuck an arm out and Mikael leaned on it gratefully.

Together the two males began to make their way back toward the battlefield, Tebrion allowing Mikael to keep a steadying hand on his arm; the bulk of the defenders paid them no mind as they carefully wound their way through the outskirts of the fighting, sometimes narrowly missing being attacked themselves or being crushed by a flung body. Tebrion had to bite his lip to keep from rushing to those soldiers he knew were already too far gone; most they passed were already dead anyway.

"Here, here is good," Mikael said finally. They had circled around the main bulk of the fighters and were standing almost in a shallow river. Tebrion steadied the human, who had steadily gotten more exhausted-looking as they had walked.

"Are you up to this?" he asked quietly.

Mikael shook his head. "Who really knows? It needs to be done, so I'll do it. It might be the last spell I cast for today, I am almost spent."

"Then cast it and let's be done with this," Tebrion sighed.

With the priest resting a steadying hand in the middle of his back, Mikael straightened as much as he could and squared his shoulders, eying the gate. He heard Tebrion's quiet snort as he finished the incantation, knowing that the priest had heard "I send my regards" instead of the actual demonic phrase, but Tebrion mirth was cut short as he had to lunge forward to catch the warlock under the arms as the human's legs buckled.

"Yes, that...that is definitely all you're getting out of me today," Mikael murmured, eyes barely open. The effort, and the pain, were proving to be too much; he wanted nothing more than to fall into a bed, and perhaps never awaken.

Tebrion simply shook his head and slowly lowered Mikael to the ground, standing to scan the area around them for any potential problems. There was nothing more hostile than one very scared-looked rabbit cowering at the base of a rock, and so Tebrion found his gaze pulled upward as movement caught his eye; Mikael's summoned infernal hurtled through the sky and slammed full-force into the shimmering gate, blowing apart the unfortunate succubus who had been stepping through it. While the succubus was blasted back through the gate, the infernal itself hit the gate's surface as though it were a solid wall.

Spidery cracks appeared across the surface, actual segments of it falling away like a broken mirror.

"Congratulations, warlock, you broke the sky," Tebrion commented. This was most definitely the strangest sight he'd ever seen; he glanced over at Mikael and found that the human was flat on his back with his eyes closed. "Mikael?"

"Mmm?" came the mumble. "What?"

"Nevermind..." the priest sighed, shaking his head.

The defenders had no doubt seen the infernal hit - who could have missed it, honestly? - and now the spellcasters were beginning to hammer at the gate as well, while the infantry continued to shove the demons back. The cracks widened, worsened, and finally with a spectacular bang the gate shattered like overheated glass. Tebrion instinctively covered his face as shards flew his direction, but they dissipated before reaching him or any others crowded around the gate's base.

Seeing their gate destroyed, the tactics of the remaining demons changed; they began to flee in all directions, causing havoc as they ran but otherwise seeking to escape into the countryside. Soldiers began to give chase on foot, mages were doing their best to slow their flight down.

Tebrion watched it all, watched the remaining demons get slaughtered, then dropped to his knees beside the prone warlock. "I'm not certain how we managed it, but we did. We survived."

Mikael opened one eye a crack and looked at him. "What now?"

"Heal the wounded, then from there is anyone's guess...do you still plan on continuing your quest to locate Datavian?"

The human growled, though it was faint and weak. "More so than ever now. He will pay for snatching Saliea away."

Tebrion bit his lower lip, speaking slowly. "Has it occurred to you that she may already -"

"Damn, of _course _I've thought of that already!" Mikael snapped. "I refuse to believe it. I will find him, and when I do I will find her. I -"

His tirade trailed off as his face went slack and his head tilted back.

"I think you should rest before you decide upon anything," Tebrion said quietly. He hooked his hands under the warlock's arms and heaved them both to their feet. "Come on, let's head back to where we left my hippogryph. I'll have to make sure he returns to his flight master."

"I don't think I've ever felt this drained," Mikael groaned as they started off.

The height difference between the two males made walking rather awkward, but they managed to stumble their way back to where the hippogryph was ruffling its wings and snorting at anyone who strayed too near; soldiers were carefully moving their wounded into this area, and Tebrion waved a hand at a familiar figure moving amongst the injured.

Sechi nodded at him silently as she bended to tend to an unconscious night elf male. The priest found a clear spot of ground and slid Mikael down into a sitting position, frowning when strings of ick peeled off Mikael and stuck to him.

"...disgusting," the priest muttered, holding his arm out from his side, his entire side now soaked in congealing blood. "Any of this yours?"

Mikael shrugged, appearing too tired to even lay down on his own. "Possibly. I don't recall getting bitten or anything, however." 'I don't remember much of anything,' he added silently. There was still the nagging feeling in his mind of him missing something rather important...but what? He mentally cursed the gigantic blank in his mind as Tebrion began to poke at him, seeking injuries.

"...I don't even think you're bruised," the priest remarked finally, a note of surprise in his voice. "Didn't you..."

"Didn't I what?"

"Didn't you destroy that thing from the inside? Surely that would leave a mark of some kind."

Mikael nodded slowly. "Yes, and yes it should have, but -"

The human was bowled over suddenly as a woman ran up and tackled him, leaving Tebrion to stare on in confusion as the female seized Mikael's face and planted a kiss on his lips.

"Thank you!" she gasped, laughing, sitting on the warlock.

Mikael blinked up at the woman - a human female, blonde with green eyes - straddling him. "Uh, you're welcome? What are you thanking me for?"

She gestured to the armor she wore; it was nearly in two pieces, torn apart across her midsection in jagged sections. Her stomach, unmarked, was bare and muscled - she slapped a hand to it with a laugh. "For this, of course! I took a blow that should have killed me, but your timely heal saved my life and for that I thank you! Thank you so much!"

"Heal?" Tebrion asked blankly, his look of confusion intensifying. "You're aware you're talking to a warlock, yes?"

The female shrugged. "I saw what I saw. He was floating, surrounded in Light, and he saved me. Warlock, warrior, tailor, farm hand, I don't care for anything other than my thanks for my rescuer." With that she bent and kissed him - gently, this time - on the forehead, then rolled off him and, with a smile, disappeared back into the group of soldiers forming around the area.

Mikael stayed where he was, chewing on his lip. "I...I did say I felt the Light coursing through me once more. I felt it, I know I did. I just wish I knew exactly how and why..."

Tebrion groaned, slapping a hand to his face. "This keeps getting more ridiculous by the moment." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "One half of me is ready to shake the hell out of you to get some answers, the other is wondering why you've always got women throwing themselves at you."

"It's not my good looks, obviously," Mikael said dryly, laughing helplessly as he gestured at his chest, still bare but smeared with gunk and blood in places where the priest's soiled robes had contacted him. He ran a hand through his matted hair. "Answers later, for I currently don't have them myself. My first order of business is a bath...providing I can stay awake long enough to avoid drowning."

"No arguments there," Tebrion said dryly, indicating his own gore-stained robes.

Mikael felt his eyes slipping shut again; the adrenaline rush brought on by the woman had faded just as quickly as it had come over him, and the warlock wondered again if he'd even be able to stay awake during a bath. 'Damn this lost time,' he muttered inwardly; needing to rest would slow him down in his search.

'Datavian, I will make you pay.'

* * *

Saliea had just managed to doze off when a burning sensation began around her neck. She was awake fully in an instant, shifting back to her elven form - scaring the hell out of Malchoir in the process - and wildly looking around the room to discern the source of the attack. No one besides herself and Malchoir where around, so she grasped at her neck where the pain was coming from.

Her fingers closed around the chain necklace Meraka had given her shortly before they parted ways, the metal heated beneath her fingertips to the point of it being incredibly uncomfortable. She deftly yanked the jewelery off, dropping it from her hand to the floor where the piece began to glow.

"_What is that?" _Malchoir asked, eying it warily

"_A gift from a friend - wait!" _she answered, eyes widening as she remembered what Meraka had told her before leaving. The necklace would allow the orc to locate her again. Did that mean the mage was trying to come to her right now? "_This may mean help is on the way."_

Malchoir shrugged and edged away from it, then grunted in surprise when a puff of displaced air heralded the arrival of Donnovan.

"What's setting off the - what is that?" the night elf asked hurriedly. "Something is setting off Datavian's wards and the last thing you want to do is draw his attention back to you."

Saliea nudged the necklace out of their cage with her toe, clambering out with Malchoir close behind her. Donnovan was standing there with a sack slung over his back; he tossed it to them, eyes on the necklace.

"Your gear," he said simply, still not taking his gaze off the chain. "What is that thing doing?"

"Meraka, a friend, gave it to me and said it would allow her to find me again."

"If she's trying to teleport you to her, or herself to you, she would have to shatter the magical wards protecting this place," Donnovan growled. "Either way, it's going to draw a lot of attention, no matter how busy Datavian currently is." The night elf dug through his pockets and pouches, mumbling to himself. He pulled out various rogue items - lockpicks, tiny knives, string, a few round pebbles - along with potions, vials of poisons, and his pipe, then finally nodded to himself when he pulled out another small object and presented it to her.

"Here, take this. It will allow you to leave here safely."

Saliea eyed the mirror he was holding out to her. "What is it?"

"Just look into it, picture the person or place you wish to go to, and it will take you. Most of Datavian's lieutenants and - in my case - slaves carry them," he explained, looking from her to the door then back to the glowing chain on the ground. "Take it and go."

"What about you?" the druid countered. "If I escape, it will eventually be found out who set me free." She chewed at her lower lip, staring at her feet. "I...can't lose you this soon after finding you."

He rested hands on her shoulders, gently shaking her. "Having met you, and knowing that you live on, that is enough for me. I never dreamed I would ever meet my own child...I stayed away to protect you, and it killed me to no end to know I'd likely never set eyes on you or your mother ever again, not until I found a way to end Datavian's hold over me."

"Don't worry about me," he went on softly. "I'll find a way to survive, I always do. I've proven too valuable to Datavian for him to simply kill me. I might be roughed up some, but he'd be a fool to destroy me."

He put a finger to her lips when she went to protest more, then shook his head. "Time grows short. I would rather suffer at his hands then let him have you. Now, go before anyone takes notice." He turned to look at Malchoir. "I've found that you must be in contact with anything you wish to take with you, so make sure you're touching the blood elf when you use the mirror. And listen: Datavian is involved in something big, and I heard mentions of Shattrath. You need to warn your allies to be vigilant."

Saliea nodded and reached out for Malchoir's hand; the male was taking it, looking totally confused, when the necklace let loose a loud bang and smokey figures took shape just beyond the elves.

"Damnit," Donnovan hissed, rubbing his chin. "Too late."

From the smoke appeared the figures of Meraka and, surprisingly, Brock. Meraka slumped to the floor, the tauren quickly bending to scoop her up.

"She broke the wards, they know you're here," Donnovan muttered, lightly banging a fist against his forehead. "Think think think..."

Meraka blinked blearily up at Brock. "_Did it work?"_

_ "Who are you?" _Malchoir asked, blinking.

Brock looked over at them, eyes sliding from the blood elf to Sal, then to Donnovan. "_I'm Brock, this is Meraka. Saliea, what has happened?"_

_ "It's a long story. Right now we must leave," _the druid replied, snatching up the bag with her and Malchoir's armor and other belongings in it. "_Come here and quickly."_

The tauren hurried over to them, Saliea grabbing Malchoir's hand and plopping it on the tauren's arm while she grasped the blood elf's shoulder firmly.

"Daughter, wait!" Donnovan called out, diving for her.

"What?"

"The mage. Can she cast a single spell?"

"Uh..." Sal gently patted Meraka's arm to get the orc's attention. "Meraka?"

"I heard him," she said hoarsely. "What are you expecting?"

Donnovan tapped his chest. "Something powerful enough to knock me a good one, but weak enough it won't kill me. Blow me through the damn door if you must, but hit me with something to make it look like you fought your way out. Datavian will be far less suspicious if there's signs of struggle."

Meraka eyed him. "You think it will be that simple?"

He shrugged. "It will be far better than leaving no trace." He tapped his chest again, stepping away. "Cast a spell, hit me. Just don't kill me."

Meraka looked at Saliea. "Who is this madman?"

"My father," came the response.

Meraka's eyes widened. "Are you...are you okay with me hurting him?"

"No, but if he believes it is necessary, just do it," Sal said quietly, staring at the floor.

Sighing heavily, Meraka pushed her way free of Brock's arms. "Very well then, let me think...okay, stand still."

Donnovan nodded, shutting his eyes tight and bracing himself as Meraka went into her spellcasting. A moment later, a small but powerful fireball slammed into him, lifting him from his feet and - like he'd asked - blowing him backwards through the door.

"Father!"

"G-go!" he gasped, rolling from his back onto his side and curling into a ball.

"Druid?"

Saliea squeezed her eyes shut. "Where is Kakum?"

"I don't know, he didn't make it back to Orgrimmar while I was there."

Sal nodded; more than anything she wanted to return to Sevei and the others, but they needed to collect Kakum as well - the troll had no way of finding them again. So, she gazed into the mirror and pictured him, felt the magic within the object reaching out and awaiting her command. With a final look at Donnovan, who was still laying in the floor recovering, she ordered the mirror to take them to Kakum.

* * *

Kakum was squatting on his haunches, glaring openly at his opponent. Keen gray eyes peered back at him, accompanied by a low growl.

"Yer not going ta beat me, ya fuzzball," the troll said slowly, again reaching out carefully with his hands for the nighsaber kitten he had picked out of a litter. The little feline was a dark grey with an odd patterning of black splotches, with eyes the same shade as her fur. She'd been growling and hissing at him since he'd spotted her, and that had made his decision.

Kakum grimaced as sharp kitten claws dug into the top of his hand, but since she'd only batted at him with her paws instead of going after him with her teeth, he lunged forward and seized her by the scruff of the neck and lifted. She yowled and dug the claws in deeper, drawing thin streams of blood, but Kakum simply grinned and rolled her into his arms, pinning her paws as the nightsaber struggled.

"Decided upon one, I see."

Kakum, the snarling feline secured under his elbow, turned and nodded at Doraen. "Yep. She'll be a real fightar once I git 'er trained."

Doraen snorted. "Think you know how to handle a cat? She'll be quite different from a pig."

"Stinky was a hard head pain in ma arse, yanno," Kakum sighed, absently scratching the ears of the kitten - who still wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. "I'll miss da piggy, but a huntar ain't nothin' without a pal or two hangin' about."

The night elf opened his mouth to reply, then jumped when a whoosh of air pushed against his back. His weapon was out and turning before he himself had even seen what had appeared, but Kakum shoved his way past Doraen with a wild whoop.

"Sal! Meraka! Moocow!"

He dove in on them in a group hug, the nightsaber dropping from his arms and racing back for the safety of her siblings - Doraen scooped her up as she tried darting between his legs - while the troll laughed and clapped them all on the backs.

"An' whos dis?"

Malchoir was looking at his surroundings, a look of sick worry on his face. "_What on earth is he saying? And where the hell are we?"_

_ "I asked who ya was, mon," _Kakum repeated, this time switching to Orcish. "_Looks like anudder needing ta learn a second language."_

_ "My name is Malchoir," _came the reply. "_Where are we?"_

_ "Night elf lands. Dis is Darnassus, da capital city. Behave yaself while yer here."_

_ "Consider it done," _the blood elf muttered, eyes widening as he caught sight of Sentinel patrols just beyond where they stood.

Saliea was looking around. "The Cenarion quarters. Good. I need to find-"

"You have a lot of explaining to do, Saliea."

Saliea turned and launched herself at him, attaching to his waist and bringing a look of surprise and embarrassment to the Archdruid's face. "What do you think you're doing, fool? We are in public."

"They know you're my foster father," she said, shifting to look up at him. "Fandral...I found him."

"Found who?"

She released him and stood back, reaching beneath her shirt to pull out the locket, presenting it to him. Fandral's eyes widened and he stiffened; after a moment, he reached out carefully to finger the locket dangling from the chain. "Where did you get this?" he asked softly.

"From...my father."

"...troll."

Kakum jumped. "Me?"

"Give it to her."

Kakum hesitated a moment, then remember the small package the Achdruid had given him. He dug it out of the front of his tunic and, with Meraka and the others looking on in confusion, handed it over to Sal. She let the chain drape over Fandral's fingers, not watching as he drew it close and ran a thumb almost reverently over the locket, and began to untie the small sack Kakum had handed her. A moment later, she dumped an identical locket into her palm; she looked up at Fandral.

"That one belonged to your mother," he explained quietly, studying the one in his hands. "I was instructed to give it to you when you were older..." Carefully, he tipped Donnovan's locket back into her hands where it lay beside Salindra's. "I never imagined...I never thought...that you would possess both."

Saliea stared at the jewelry in her hand - she knew without looking that Salindra's wedding band no doubt resided in her locket, much like Donnovan's did. In a very short amount of time she had gained the knowledge of her father's existence, and two relics of her parents' pasts that she never even knew still remained. She felt a chill race down her spine, and became aware of how very quiet everything had gotten. The members of the Horde were huddled together, watching both druids; Sal sighed heavily and looked up at Fandral.

"Thank you."

"You wouldn't thank me if you ever knew why..." he started, then trailed off, shaking his head violently. "No, it's not for now." He took a deep breath and his usual stern expression returned to his face. "As I mentioned before, you've a lot of explaining to do."

"There is much to tell, little time to tell it in," she said, closing her fist around the lockets. "I will tell you everything I know, but then I must depart."

"To return to Outland?" Fandral asked, eyes narrowing.

She nodded. "To return to Outland." She sent a glance in the direction of the others. "Datavian plans to attack or otherwise target Shattrath. I don't know what that means, or even where it is, but we have to get a warning to them."

Fandral held up a hand to silence them as they all began to mutter amongst themselves, then turned to Doraen. "Gathered on the Warrior's Terrace you will find a group of my druids and Tyrande's Sentinels. Order them to prepare for deployment, then fetch me the mage from the temple." He turned a stern glare on Saliea. "We ride for Shattrath."

Doraen, speechless, merely nodded and hurried away, pausing only to pass Kakum back his squalling kitten.

"...Fandral?" Sal asked cautiously, looking up at him.

"Do not think I'm allowing you to rush off to your death," he said shortly. "I owe your father that, and much much more." With that, he spun on his heel and stalked away.

Saliea watched him leave, shaking her head without realizing it; she moved her gaze from his back to the others standing nearby. "This all keeps getting more complicated..."

Meraka nodded wearily. "If we're to be returning to a war zone, I will need to rest. We either need to wait, or leave now so I have time to recuperate."

Sal nodded, walking up to them. "You all...don't have to come with me, you know."

Kakum slapped an arm around her shoulders, squishing the yowling nightsaber between them. "Ah, ye can't expect us ta run away now, do ya? Tis just gettin fun!"

Brock gently patted her head. "I shall follow you, little one. I wouldn't be able to walk away, knowing you head back into danger."

She smiled at them all, then rested a hand on Malchoir's arm. "_What about you? I can return you to your home, if you wish, before I return to Outland and wherever this Shattrath is."_

Malchoir brushed her hand off and dropped to one knee. "_You saved my life druid, and that's a debt I shall be long in repaying. I will accompany you to Shattrath, I pledge my blades in your service."_ With that he seized her hand and kissed the top, bowing his head. "_This I promise you."_

She smiled faintly. "Very well then, let us return to the others."

She hefted the mirror in her hands again, looking into it and picturing Sevei, ignoring the rush of excitement at seeing him again and the incredible urge to throw herself into his arms. As the magic built, she felt her friends all resting hands on her, and when she was certain they were all ready, she commanded the mirror to move them.

* * *

Mikael dropped, frustrated and exhausted but at least clean, into the bed offered to him at the inn in Telaar. Savion, covered head to toe in demon blood and guts, had located them - Sevei with him - several hours after the fall of the demonic gate. At first Mikael thought the draenei was going to kill him as he raged on and on about recklessly charging off into danger and the risks he had taken and so on and so forth, but finally Sechi had calmed him down enough that the draenei simply stomped off to go walk among his troops and offer words of comfort and encouragement.

"He was worried about you, no doubt," Sechi said quietly as her husband clumped away.

Mikael had only nodded silently, feeling too tired to even move. Tebrion was assisting Sechi in tending to the wounds of the defenders, and so that left just Sevei and Mikael sitting side by side by themselves.

Mikael had craned his neck to look over at the shaman. "We'll find her, you know. I won't rest until I do."

Sevei had turned a gaze so empty, so devoid of any emotion, on the warlock that it actually sent a chill through his entire body...not just because it was a frightening look, but because Mikael recognized it, as he had seen it in the mirror in his own eyes so often - the look of a man who had little to live for. The realization both sickened and worried him.

'Is that what I had really become?' he wondered to himself. That haunted look reminded him so much of his earlier years...and, for the first time, brought to attention the fact that since he had met Saliea, met Sevei, met the others, he had laughed more often and longer, he'd starting smiling again, he'd changed. He longed for a mirror now, to see if that look still remained in his eyes.

They'd returned to the inn, the sun setting by the time they had arrived; Mikael had forgotten the want for a mirror, and instead focused simply on cleaning himself of demon blood and gore and locating a clean set of clothing. His robes were a total mess but not so beyond repair as he'd thought, and even then it would take more than one washing to make them wearable again so that left Mikael with just his shirt and his leather pants - not much armor to speak of anymore. He'd worry about that later, though; in the morning he'd scrub his robes again while he decided his next course of action...or so he had thought.

Sechi had found him shortly after he'd finished bathing, and presented him with a roll of parchment bearing an unfamiliar seal.

"It is the seal of the Sha'tar," she explained. "It is a letter of summons...A'dal wishes to speak with you. With all of us. We head for Shattrath in the morning."

"But-"

She held up her hand. "No arguments, warlock. One does not ignore a Naaru. We go to Shattrath."

Mikael crumpled the parchment and tossed it angrily across the room after she'd gone; it still lay in a ball against the wall. The bed under him was hard, but his body didn't care, it craved sleep; his mind didn't want to rest just yet, but it couldn't ignore the demands of the rest of him, and after a few moments of restless tossing and turning, Mikael fell into an uneasy sleep.


	20. Chapter 20

Mikael woke absurdly early, feeling refreshed and with the words of his father in his mind.

'_You need to learn how to sleep, son. If you sleep long and hard, you wake up feeling worse than you did before you went to bed. If you sleep long, you'll wake up feeling great but you'll have wasted a lot of time. Sleeping hard is what you want to aim for - sleeping hard is getting right down to business, waking up soon and feeling like you slept an entire day. THAT'S the best sort of sleeping.'_

He sat up, stretching and finding himself relieved that he felt no pain as he did so; he'd slept hard, no doubt, for the sun was barely rising and he didn't hear any sign of wakefulness from anyone else. Mikael glanced around; Tebrion's bed was empty, but he vaguely remembered the priest offering to sleep near the injured soldiers that still required care, so that was no surprise. Sevei's bed was vacant as well, and Mikael had no idea where the moody shaman might have gone, or if he should be worried at his absence.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and standing, Mikael retrieved his robes and silently made his way downstairs to the little washroom the inn keeper had led him to the previous evening. He spent a long time scrubbing and then drying his robes, frowning when he saw where a fairly large section of them were missing along the bottom hem; there was also the matter of the missing sleeve, but that had been a clean cut, he could live with that. When the garment was dry he quietly padded back up the stairs to his bed and slipped the robes on, craning his neck to see where the torn section was, which was luckily in the back, nearly between his legs.

Mikael yanked them off and took up Spellcleaver, hardly amused at how the sword was about to be used but seeing little choice. He spread out the robes partially on his bed, supporting the part hanging off, then carefully - but swiftly - began slashing at them. Moments later he was slipping them back on and checking their length, scraps of cast-off fabric resting around his feet. The robes had originally been long enough to brush the backs of his ankles, but now that he'd had to trim them to make up for the large bit missing, they hit him mid-calf - a difference of about six inches or so. He'd find someone to tidy up the hem later, but for now the robes would still serve their purpose...somewhat.

He bent down and picked up the scraps of fabric, fingering the runes sewn into them. He would need to compensate for the loss of the magical runes, but...

Mikael frowned, knowing he had something for that exact purpose, but with the way he looked now...

Sighing in resignation, he squatted and tugged his backpack over, rummaging around until he pulled out a pair of leather gloves the color of dried blood. Once on, they nearly reached his elbow; Mikael stood and took in his appearance: robes that were more like a tunic, black leather pants, a bare arm partially covered with a leather glove, black boots.

'I look like a villain in a children's tale,' he groaned mentally.

As he was adjusting his clothing, his backpack fell over with a plop and dumped a few of his belongings out, including a small item that flashed silver and let out a high 'ting' when it hit the floor. Sighing heavily, Mikael began to stuff everything back into his pack, then paused when he uncovered what had made the metallic noise. He carefully picked up the tiny silver disk, about the size of his thumb, dangling from a delicate silver chain. Engraved in the surface was a tiny warhammer, and he knew without looking that there were words on the back of the disk - a prayer, actually.

**Light protect you, wherever you go.**

** Light guide your arm, deed, and word.**

** Happiness and peace to you, friend.**

** Walk always in the Light.**

He turned it over to read the words he'd committed to memory long ago, a faint smile tinged with sadness working its way across his face. How long had it been since he'd taken this out and looked at it? He fingered the little disk, remembering how yesterday he felt - no, he knew without a doubt - that the Light had once again come to his call, had filled him with its radiance. Everything else was a jumbled blur, but the Light was something he couldn't confuse with anything else; he gripped the disk until he felt its edges digging into the leather gloves he wore.

_Why _would the Light come back to him after all this time, only to leave again? A mix of anger and sorrow filled him, and he quickly clamped down on his emotions before they got the best of him. He needed to focus. He needed to find Datavian, extract vengeance from the bastard for stealing Saliea, and then make him pay for -

A hand gently touched his shoulder and the necklace flew from his grasp as he spun to look up into Sechi's face.

"Good morning to you," she laughed as Mikael glared up at her.

"A little warning next time, please?" he panted, shaking his head and waiting for his heart to stop racing.

"Our apologies, I thought you would have heard us coming." That was from Savion, who was just now coming up the stairs. "Are you ready to depart?"

"I - don't touch that," he snapped, lunging to swat Sechi's hand away from the necklace on the floor by her hooves, but she had already picked it up and instead the warlock hit the floor on hands and knees with a look of desperation on his face.

Sechi eyed the disk, turning it this way and that, her eyes slowly widening. "...warlock, what is this?"

"It's nothing, nothing at all. Give it back."

Savion stepped up beside his wife, eying the necklace as well and soon wore an expression of surprise on his face identical to the one forming on hers. "That is a medallion of the Silver Hand Knights."

The two draenei looked at one another, then down at Mikael who had squeezed his eyes shut.

"I tell you, it is nothing," Mikael said quietly. "Please just...just give it back."

Savion reached up and awkwardly adjusted his eyepatch, then inhaled deeply. "Mikael...I have heard rumors from my men, regarding you and, and the Light. They say you healed a woman."

"Rumors are rumors," came the weak answer. Mikael hung his head, a sense of panic rising in him.

Sechi knelt down in front of him, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder, the Silver Hand pendant held close to her chest. "Mikael. Are you-"

"_Don't. _ Don't ask me that," Mikael growled between clenched teeth, hands forming into fists. He sat up, nearly knocking Sechi over as he spun around and got to his feet, only to sit down on his bed with his back to the two paladins.

Sechi clambered to her feet, standing beside her husband; he looked just as surprised as she felt. Mikael? A -

"It's really not so hard to figure out, is it?" Mikael said suddenly, cutting into Sechi's thoughts. His voice was low and husky, like he was holding back tears. He glanced at them from over his shoulder. "You hold there in your hand a part of my past. What does it tell you? Surely you're both smart enough to guess."

"...how did you fall?" Savion asked softly.

"I didn't. That is part of what I've been struggling with all my life." Mikael turned around to fully look at them both. "I was severed from it. When I was younger. Something I'm certain your Krokul could sympathize with, but I personally prefer to not mention it, at all. I'd appreciate it if you honored that request."

The two draenei simply stared in silence.

* * *

Mikael was certain about a few things as they made their way to Shattrath. One, he had managed to alienated himself from Sevei's parents just by being blunt. Two, he was fairly certain that if given the choice between flying and riding anywhere, he'd rather ride. And three, his past needed to go back to the dark corner of his mind he'd been storing it in and just stay there for eternity.

The beauty of Nagrand passing by under him wasn't enough to distract him from the turmoil in his mind. His thoughts were a scramble of his childhood, how much he wanted to hug Saliea and beg her forgiveness, what else he could possibly say or do to lessen the awkwardness between himself and Savion and Sechi - he had a feeling that he was going to be spending more time in their presence - as well as the confusion left from yesterday. He at least took comfort in knowing the hippogryph under him wasn't about to turn around and strike up a conversation, so he was essentially alone with his thoughts on what was turning out to be a leisurely but long flight.

Later, they had landed in a broken city that made him stand and gawk. The stone beneath his feet was solid, and they appeared to be standing on an upper tier of the city, for he could see steps and a ramp leading down into the lower areas, and it was in those lower areas that he saw the worst signs of the devastation that had hit this town.

"The orcs destroyed Shattrath, back before they arrived in Azeroth," Sechi said quietly, walking with him as he strode up to look over the edge down into the lower city. "We are rebuilding, but with the demonic threats coming at us from every direction, rebuilding has been slowed considerably."

Mikael eyed the destruction silently, eyes roaming over ragged groups of mixed humanoids, seeing scrawny children running at play amongst merchants selling wares. There were also a considerable number of people of all races walking about in full battle gear, as though they expected an attack at any moment. What surprised him the most, though, was that races of Horde and Alliance lived and worked side by side with no visible animosity toward each other.

"A'dal welcomes any and all who would enter with goodness in their hearts. Here, all differences are put aside and we strive for peace for every race. We are not so different from one another, after all," Sechi replied when Mikael commented on the quiet in the town. "Come. It is time you met A'dal."

Mikael followed her to where Tebrion and Savion waited for them, then together they headed for the central structure of Shattrath, a rounded dome with an open top from which a beam of light was streaming. This sight caused Mikael - Tebrion too - to pause, but that sight paled in the face of the light's _source._

Floating in the middle of the circular area was a being made of what appeared to be solid shards of pure light that orbited around a central point freely. Mikael thought it looked like calligraphy set loose and given life; it was amazing to behold. As they drew closer, he felt his mind's turmoil beginning to ease, felt like he was in the presence of an old friend.

_Welcome to Shattrath, Mikael. I am A'dal._

Mikael jumped at the voice in his head. "G-greetings."

_And I welcome you as well, Tebrion._

Tebrion bowed. "Greetings, A'dal."

_ I am most interested in speaking with you three, but I'm afraid we must first wait. The others have not gathered yet._

Mikael was about to ask what he meant by three, but then realized that Sevei was standing silently by his parents; he hadn't seen the shaman all morning, and wondered when Sevei had rejoined them...maybe he just hadn't seen the shaman walk into A'dal's presence with them.

_Please seat yourselves and be at peace._

Mikael, as did Tebrion and Sevei, sat down on the small steps leading up to A'dal while Sechi and Savion opted to remain standing. Draenei moved around them busily, hardly giving the newcomers a glance, though Mikael didn't think he found this odd - judging by the number of other races he had seen walking around, a few new faces were likely nothing to the draenei. Those who did take note of them greeted them quickly, or flashed them a brief smile, before hurrying on to do whatever it was they were doing.

Mikael kept hearing what he thought was a buzzing in his ears, and finally when he focused on it he heard the quietest hints of tinkling music, like water striking glass. He carefully looking up at the floating, shifting being overhead and wondered if the music was coming from A'dal himself, but didn't think he wanted to ask such a ridiculous question. He dropped his gaze, letting it fall on an old man standing and talking to a grandly robed female draenei...and sputtered when he suddenly realized he'd seen the man before.

"What? What is it?" Tebrion asked, glancing sideways at him.

Mikael jerked his head in that direction. "T-that man. That's...that's Khadgar!"

Tebrion's eye widened. "Khadgar?"

"I tell you, that's him standing right there!"

The night elf turned, and he took made a sound of surprise when he looked at him. "Well...I'd have to say you're correct."

They both heard a musical chuckle in their minds. _Yes, that is indeed Khadgar. No doubt you recognized him from a statue in Stormwind? That is how most know of him before ever meeting him._

Mikael nodded. "Yes, I walked...I have walked many times passed that statue."

_You will likely be spending time with him very soon, I'm afraid._

With that, the naaru fell silent as did Mikael.

After a while, they felt A'dal's presence in their minds again.

_They come._

Mikael was about to ask who, but a chilled breeze wafted across his face as a group of beings materialized not too far from where they sat. When his brain finally caught up to what he was seeing, he could only sit in stunned silence as Tebrion and Sevei both leapt to their feet and raced for the group.

"Wat, ya tink we was gone forevar?" Kakum crowed, laughing as he stepped out of Saliea's way as the druid darted away from them and all but launched herself at Sevei.

Mikael still sat silently, not watching as Sevei caught Sal and spun in a circle, laughing and smiling and holding her tight. He didn't watch as the druid planted a kiss on his lips that seemed to last forever; finally, she pulled from his arms and hugged her brother - it was a one-armed hug, as her other hand was resting in one of Sevei's. Tebrion returned the hug, shaking his head, then released her and she immediately stepped back into Sevei's arms.

Through all this, Mikael sat silent and observed it all (Tebrion was now offering an arm to a tired-looking Meraka) as they all greeted one another and expressed relief at finding each other alive. He smiled faintly, a sense of relief battling with one of jealousy within him; finally, he saw a familiar pair of boots standing before him, and lifted his gaze to see Saliea in front of him.

"So...I suppose in all of that it's too much to hope that you never saw Datavian," he said quietly.

Saliea knelt, cupping his face in her hands. "I saw him," she whispered.

"Then you know."

She sighed. "I don't want to believe it. Tell me with your own words: why does Datavian look like you?"

He gently took one of the hands on his face in his own, looked up at everyone crowding around. "It is exactly as it seems." Mikael dropped his chin to his chest. "Datavian is several years older than I, yet we have always resembled one another so much that we were often mistaken for twins."

Saliea nodded silently. "I didn't realize it at first...but then, it had to be the only explanation."

Mikael nodded, then dropped her hand and hid his face within his. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." His hands slid up and seized handfuls of his hair. "I've been searching for him for so long, he has so much to answer for, I'm _so sorry-"_

"If you were keeping your relation to him a secret, what else have you been hiding?" Tebrion asked, eyes narrowing.

"It's a lie I've become accustomed to telling, I just..." came the muffled answer, followed by a heavy sigh. "Explaining my brother, and why I sought him, is a complicated matter."

"Forgive me for the interruption," Meraka interjected wearily. "But who, exactly, is Datavian and why does he matter to us?"

"I believe if we give this Mikael a little breathing room, he'd be willing to tell us."

They all jumped and turned, and Sevei let out a little hiss of surprise when he saw the speaker approaching.

"High Priestess Ishanah," he said quietly, dropping to one knee out of respect.

Ishanah smiled at him. "Stand up, child, there's no time for that - that, and it makes me distinctly uncomfortable." Chuckling as Sevei scrambled to this feet, Ishanah stepped up to them, nodded to A'dal, and fixed them all with a kindly look. "I see we have all come together at last. I have been waiting for your group to arrive here since we first received warning from Honor Hold. I am pleased to finally see you all here, alive and well."

_Forgive me, little ones, but we require a moment of privacy._

They heard the voice echo through their heads, and watched as all the surrounding draenei all nodded or bowed and hurried from the area as best they could - those that, for whatever reason, were unable to leave the room simply moved to the walls and took on an air of deafness, the closest thing to privacy they could offer in a semi-enclosed space.

Ishanah, her footsteps now the only noise, carefully walked up and settled herself next to Mikael on the stairs. "Now, Mikael, perhaps you could tell us all your story? A little understanding may help us find a way to end this without too much bloodshed."

Mikael smoothed hands through his hair, staring blankly at the floor. "I'll tell you everything...I'll do anything I must to make sure this ends _here."_

* * *

_I was born to Koulson and James Sullivan, in Elwynn. We lived in a small cottage there, at the foot of the hills and near a river. My mother was a talented enchanter, my father a paladin and blacksmith, and long before I was even born they began work on a weapon to be gifted to their first-born son: Spellcleaver._

_ I was not their first-born son._

_ Datavian is my elder by six years or so. When I was born he was already beginning his schooling; I imagine my father was disappointed when Datavian chose the path of magic instead of the Light, but my brother possessed talent with the arcane, and magical things always interested him. _

_ As I grew, tales of valiant paladins swayed me. I accompanied my father into Stormwind to the Cathedral of Light, and standing there in that holy place I felt the Light call to me. There, I decided my life's ambition was to become a holy warrior, a paladin, like my father had. There was no doubt to my decision - I knew where my destiny lay, and I felt the embrace of the Light like an old friend. As I grew older, father began to expose me to different weapons, training me from an early age how to wield them. _

_ I was ten when he took me to the Cathedral and presented me to Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker, the leader of the paladins stationed in Stormwind. I was terrified, but he was kind and gladly accepted me into training to become a paladin. When we left the cathedral that day, my father gave me a pendant of the Silver Hand, one that I've carried with me always. We returned home, and while my mother was overjoyed Datavian was far from pleased._

_ It was the first real time my brother and I had ever quarreled. I had – and still have – talent with the arcane, but not nearly so much as he...even so, he had this grand vision of the two of us combining our arcane might and becoming mage heroes. My choice to become a paladin upset him deeply, as he felt I had betrayed this vision of his and felt I had betrayed his love for me as my brother. I insisted we could still be the heroes he imagined, only now we would be capable of blasting our foes and mending our allies. For a time, this seemed to satisfy him._

_ I began my lessons, traveling back and forth between Stormwind and my home; Datavian slowly grew quiet, moody, and always had his nose in one massive tome after another. I remember him slowly withdrawing, pulling in to himself, in the days after a visit to the Mage Tower in Stormwind. He came back...changed, somehow. I don't know what happened. And as time passed he became very different from the Datavian I had known and loved while growing up in my earlier years. _

_ Years passed, I was inducted as a member of the Knights of the Silver Hand and thus required to move into the city to train more intimately in the powers of the Light..._

_ If only I had been at home, perhaps I could have stopped him. Months after relocating to Stormwind, I was given leave to return home and visit with my family, which I gladly took. I arrived home...to find my home in shambles. I opened the door to find furniture overturned, signs of struggle everywhere, scorch marks. I panicked and rushed inside, and found my slain mother in her workshop; I knelt in her blood, I didn't know what to do! My powers of the Light could not rouse her, and I truly knew she was dead then. I remained there several long moments while my mind tried to make sense of what it was seeing, then I stumbled to my feet and raced outside, screaming for my father._

_ I received no answer, and rushed to my father's workshop just behind our home. There was my father, sprawled across his cooled forge, unconscious and unresponsive. I urged the Light into his body, and still received nothing and feared my father, too, was lost to me. At the time I didn't give a thought as to the whereabouts of my brother; I sprinted into the middle of Goldshire and begged for help. Soldiers returned with me, as did the resident priest and several townsfolk who knew the healing lore. I remember watching silently as they bore my mother's body away to prepare for burial, and as the healers worked over my father's body._

_ Still my father had not moved, but at least he lived. I sat in the middle of the floor, in our ruined home, only leaving when Lord Grayson himself arrived and led me away. They took my father straight to the Cathedral of Light to care for him...for the most part, they were careful around me and allowed me to go where I wished. I spent most of my time at my father's bedside, but he slept on and never woke while I was near. I attended the burial of my mother alone; Datavian had yet to show himself, and the soldiers worried that whomever had attacked my parents may have kidnapped or otherwise taken my brother from me as well. They searched several days and never found a trace of him._

_ A month after my mother's death, I returned to our home. The soldiers had locked the doors to the cottage and to my father's workshop...it was all so quiet. I couldn't understand why I had returned here, only that I felt I needed to...and there, inside my mother's room, I found my brother._

_ He was rummaging through her things, tucking tomes and other tools into a backpack. I called out to him, and he turned to face me._

_ "Brother, what are you doing here? Where have you been?"_

_ Datavian had this pitying look on his face as he gazed at me. "Poor little Mikael, you look so lost...come here, dear brother."_

_ He was my brother, I would never distrust him, so I crossed the room and was surprised when he pulled me into a hug - something he had not done since I was very young._

_ "M-mother's dead, and father lays as though dead."_

_ "Yes, I know," Datavian had crooned. "It is as it must be."_

_ I remember disbelieving my ears then, my mind froze, and I pulled away from him. "What?"_

_ "They are gone, little Mikael. Obstacles upon the path, removed."_

_ The pitying look was gone, replaced by one of manic glee. Only then did I notice the gnarled staff glowing yellow, leaning against the wall nearby, and that Datavian wore fine robes, certainly too fine for him to have afforded himself. I remember backing away, my feet crunching over something on the floor that nearly spilled me over mother's work table._

_ "Come with me, Mikael. Together if we serve my master, we could bring about a new order. You will reach your full potential only if you come...to do otherwise will be to stray from the path I have chosen for you. This is a path of power, Mikael, one meant for those who possess and desire it."_

_ "What madness is this?" I roared. "Mother is gone, father lays as though dead, and you're babbling on about power? Have you lost your mind? Where have you been?"_

_ Datavian seized the staff from the wall. "I have been communing with my master. Come with me, little Mikael. I have released you from what held you back."_

_ Within my heart, I felt something deeply, deeply wrong. Here was my brother, one I loved and trusted, spouting such nonsense at me and I was torn._

_ "Brother...what have you done?"_

_ "Why, Mikael," Datavian laughed. "Didn't I just tell you? I have opened the way for you. Now, come." He held out his hand to me, a pleading look on his face. "Do you not trust me?"_

_ I slapped that hand away and ran, stumbling over things on the floor, until I reached the outside where I kept running. Datavian had admitted he was the one behind the attack on our parents! In my mind, the world had gone mad._

_ I ran blindly into the trees, and finally stopped when I could run no further. As I sat there, slumped against an oak, I cried and refused to believe any of what I had just heard. Because of my turmoil, Datavian stole up on me unnoticed._

_ He stepped around the tree I leaned against like a nightmare, his face lit eerily by the glow from the staff he clutched in his hands, a hood pulled low over his face so all I could see was his feral grin._

_ "Oh Mikael, why did you run? You're going to make this difficult now, aren't you?"_

_ "Murderer," I snarled, standing and drawing the little mace I carried. "You - you killed our mother, OUR MOTHER!"_

_ "I did what I had to," he snapped. "Will you and or will you not willingly embrace your destiny? Or will you force me to force you down the path instead?"_

_ "In the name of the Light, I arrest you," I had begun, "for the death of Koulson-"_

_ I was cut short when he whipped that staff at me, forcing me to duck. A spell set the tree behind me on fire, and I lunged forward, tackling him about the waist and grappling with him. He may have been my elder, but he preferred the easy life of book-reading and spellcasting, while I was more accustomed to physical activities, and so while I was younger I was built differently, and was stronger. My mace was torn from my hands, and so I began to pummel him bare-fisted; as we rolled I spied the hilt of the sword, Spellcleaver, sticking up from Datavian's belt. Just as my hands closed on it, I was blasted back by a nasty spell that threw me headfirst into a boulder protruding from the earth._

_ What happened next I only know because I was saved from my brother by a passing band of hunting townsfolk. I lay facedown by the rock, a swelling bruise on my temple, and my brother stalked in. My fist was clenched around the hilt of Spellcleaver even though I was unaware; Datavian flipped me to my back and stood over me with that staff, chanting. Orange mist began to form at its tip and drift to me, solidifying into a pale orange beam as it drew closer to me; I lay there, helpless, as it wormed its way into my slack mouth. It was then that the hunters came bursting through the trees, whooping and laughing in good spirits, and came upon Datavian and me. They took in the situation and demanded an explanation. Datavian broke off whatever enchantment he was attempting to place on me and turned to confront this interruption, but they were many against him and he was forced to magic himself away. When he escaped, he left the sword and me behind. The hunters hurried me into Goldshire where I lay in bed for three days before waking._

_ I awoke to see Lord Grayson at my bedside, and I told him all I knew. He was both angered and saddened to hear that it was Datavian who was responsible for my mother's death and my father's catatonic state. He had me carried to the cathedral and forced me to remain in bed another few days while he organized bands of soldiers and paladins to seek out my brother and drag him back to Stormwind to receive justice._

_ It was during this time of forced bed rest that I discovered that which has haunted me all my life:_

_ Like a sputtering candle, my connection to the Light was failing._

_ When I was not at my father's side, I was praying. My bond with the Light grew weaker and weaker, until finally I could not even call to me the simplest of blessings. My condition worried and confused those in the cathedral, and they gave me all sorts of tasks to 'atone' for whatever wrongdoing had caused me to fall from the Light. None of them worked. Whatever Datavian had tried doing to me had severed my connection to the Light._

_ When I could call upon it no more, I frequently began to leave the cathedral; I kept up with any and all reports concerning my brother, which were sadly few and far between, and began an investigation of my own. I inquired at the places he had been studying, and learned that he had on occasion slipped off to a tavern in the Mage's section of Stormwind - the Slaughtered Lamb, a place notorious for being filled of unsavory magic users._

_ I went there, and found within the depths of the tavern a group of warlocks who all knew Datavian well._

_ "He came here begging for knowledge," a woman by the name of Ursula Deline informed me. "He was rude, too eager. He would have easily been warped by the knowledge he sought, so we refused him...all except for Zardeth, who humored the boy enough to give him a tome written in a language he had no hope of reading."_

_ I asked to see this tome, and was directed to Zardeth himself._

_ "What is this?" the man growled. "You stink of innocence, boy. Get out of my sight."_

_ I drew Spellcleaver from my belt and leveled it at him. "B-by the Light, I demand you show me that book. My brother laid eyes on it, and I will see it too."_

_ Zardeth raised an eyebrow. "Don't point that weapon, child, unless you mean to use it."_

_ He waved a hand and the shadows around me deepened, but I wasn't about to be deterred. "Your parlor tricks won't work on me. You showed my brother a book, I want to see it."_

_ He simply laughed and turned his back on me. "It would seem you need a lesson in respecting your elders." Lazily he waved a hand to the darkness. "Kill him."_

_ The darkness solidified and nightmares leapt from them with claws reaching for me. I reacted as any fighter would and began to fight for my life; I might have been without the powers of the Light, but that did not effect my physical strength. Horrific things clawed at me, battered me back and finally drove me to my knees; the darkness had permeated everything, obscuring any means of escape. I saw my death then, and I grew angry._

_ It was irrational anger, but it saved my life. _

_ "I order you, STAND DOWN!"_

_ To my great surprise, and no doubt Zardeth's, whatever creatures were assaulting me _obeyed. _I slaughtered them where they stood, and as the shadows dissipated I went to turn my sword on the man, but his upraised hands gave me pause._

_ "Wait," he ordered. "What did you just do?"_

_ I wasn't sure myself, so I remained silent with my weapon at the ready. Zardeth studied me a long time, then turned and went to a blank section of the wall. "Follow," he said, walking headlong into the wall and disappearing through it. I hesitated at first, thinking it to be another trap, but finally I followed him through the hidden door and down a narrow winding staircase until we reached what appeared to be a cramped alchemy laboratory. Zardeth moved among the apparatuses, heading for the far wall that was covered with bookshelves sagging with countless tomes. He perused the shelves a moment, then tugged a sizable book free and returned to me in the doorway._

_ "Here," he said, dumping it into my arms. "Good luck reading it."_

_ He stood there staring at me until I finally turned and ran back up the staircase, pausing at the top to catch my breath and glance down at the book I held in my hands. It was titled in a language I couldn't decipher, and I again began to wonder what I intended to do with it when a movement in the corner of the room caught my eye._

_ Spellcleaver was at guard before I even realized I had moved, and I looked upon the most pathetic little creature I'd ever seen. It was some sort of imp, ugly and horned with clawed hands and feet and tiny, pointed teeth. He emitted a faintly green aura, and appeared to be sitting in his corner and shivering in terror._

_ "GahnononononohurtJakpit," it chattered at me, hiding behind its hands. "Iwon'thurtyounope,justleavemebe."_

_ "What are you?"_

_ "I'mJakpitofcourse."_

_ The stupid little thing was almost impossible to understand, and I was more than a little wary. "Would you speak slower so I can understand you?"_

_ "I. Am. Jakpit," it said clearly, jabbing a thumb into its scrawny chest. _

_ "And what's a Jakpit?"_

_ "Mynameof - My. Name. Of. Course."_

_ I stared at him a moment, remembering the things that had attacked me only moments earlier. "Why are you here?"_

_ "Waiting. Of. Course."_

_ "On what?"_

_ "Master's. Next. Command."_

_ I looked around, suddenly fearing another attack. "On your master's command?"_

_ "Yepyep."_

_ "And who is your master? Where is he? I'm not about to be attacked again, am I?"_

_ The imp chittered, his whippy little tail thrashing. "Mastersosilly,whymasterattackhimself?"_

_ A glare made it cower again. "Master. So. Silly. Why. Master. Attack. Himself?" he repeated._

_ That was certainly not what I had expected to hear. "Are you saying I'm...your master?"_

_ Jakpit nodded, hopping from one foot to the other. "Yepyep. Iwasorderedtostanddown,I'mwaitingfornextcommand."_

_ I shook my head - this was insanity! "I can't be your master, I'd never associate with foul beings of darkness."_

_ "Youordered,Ihadtoobey. Thatmakesyoumymaster."_

_ That made no sense to me then, so I simply clutched the book to my chest and ran from the room, from the tavern, and didn't stop until I'd reached the safety of my room in the cathedral. Once inside, I bolted the door and took a deep breath, then settled the tome on my bed and opened it. The shifting writing inside made my head hurt to look at it, and after flipping through several pages I gave up; I couldn't read it, so how could Datavian have possibly discerned anything from it? It was another dead end in the search for my brother...or was it?_

_ Datavian had changed so much in so little an amount of time...what if this 'master' he had mentioned was able to read this book? Now more than ever I yearned to know what the pages held, but my thoughts were interrupted by a soft humming. I jumped up to find the imp Jakpit sitting on my pillow._

_ "What are you doing here?" I sputtered, yanking the pillow away from him and sending the imp tumbling head over tail to the floor. "This is a holy place, you're not welcome here!"_

_ "Igowheremastergoes," the imp said grumpily, rubbing the base of his tail. "Ifmasteristhere,Icango."_

_ "This is madness, utter, total madness." I began to pace, thinking, and as I did Jakpit clambered back onto my bed and sat watching me. When I finally turned my attention back to him, I saw in horror that the imp had the book open and was flipping through the pages._

_ "Masterstudying?" he asked, again knocked flying as I yanked the tome from him and slammed it shut. _

_ "No, I can't read it," I growled._

_ "Whymasternotreadit? Jakpitcan."_

_ That gave me pause. "...you...you can read this?" I repeated, holding up the book. The imp nodded. "...is there any way you could teach me how?"_

_ Jakpit hopped up, clapping his hands together. "Isthatanorderfrommaster?"_

_ "I'm not your master."_

_ The imp seemed to ignore me as I settled the book back on my bed and he opened it to the first page. I wonder how many humans learned demonic from an actual demon, but over the next several months I was tutored in the language by the imp who claimed I was his master. The secrets of the book became known to me: how to call the darkness, how to summon and enslave demons to do my bidding, horrible curses and spells to inflict pain and death upon my enemies. _

_ To my horror, I found this brand of magic responded readily to me._

_ My father had still not awakened, and as time wore on I became more and more fearful that I would be found out, studying the dark arts within the cathedral even if at that time I had no intentions of ever wielding it. I simply wished to learn what had corrupted my brother so, but I couldn't continue to do that here. I finally went to Lord Grayson and informed him I intended to seek Datavian on my own. Lord Grayson wished me luck, blessed me, and I left the cathedral. I have yet to return._

* * *

"From there, I began my search," Mikael concluded dully. "I eventually discovered that brute strength and skill alone were not enough to defend myself against the world, and so bit by bit I turned to the warlock arts. I despise them, I despise the darkness, but they are little more than a tool to me...once I find my brother, I can give up this foul magic for good." He spread his hands, his arms resting on his knees. "I always seemed to be two steps behind my brother, following rumors of him from one end of the world to the other...never had I ever seen him, except for at Telaar." He clenched his hands into fists. "And there you all have it...my past laid out for all to see. My personal shame out in the open."

"So your travels led you eventually to Orgrimmar," Meraka mused, "where you became captured, and started the events that led to bringing us all together."

They all fell silent, with only A'dal's faint music intruding on their personal thoughts. Finally, Ishanah cleared her throat with a soft smile.

"I would like a word with Mikael alone, and I'm sure some of us here need their rest."

_Places have been prepared for you all. You are welcome in Shattrath._

With Ishanah shooing them all away like a kindly grandmother, Mikael hunched down where he sat, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he watched those beings he considered friends walk away. How had his tale changed how they saw him? He knew he wouldn't be able to tolerate pity, and if any of them thought badly of him for wielding the fel energies in place of the Light...well, he didn't think he could handle that either.

His thoughts were interrupted when Ishanah sat cross-legged before him.

"Now then, Mikael," she said, her voice gentle. "Tell me what is truly on your mind."

* * *

Donnovan woke in considerable pain. His armor had been stripped off, revealing the burnt and cracked flesh of his chest; nothing had been done to heal it, and finally Donnovan's pain-wracked mind told him he was still laying in the doorway of the dungeon, and...

And Datavian was sitting beside him, leaning against the wall.

Donnovan hissed when he took in the human's appearance - Datavian appeared gaunt, skeletal, his skin much paler and stretched over his face and hands like it was two sizes too small for his body. His lip was purple where Saliea had bitten it, still swollen, and that was the only color to his face.

"What happened to you?" he groaned, struggling to sit up. Datavian reached out and roughly shoved him flat, drawing another pained groan from the night elf.

"I could ask the same," Datavian said stiffly. "Where is the druid and the blood elf?"

"A-allies of the blood elf shattered the wards and rescued him," Donnovan lied. "They took the druid with them, I'd imagine." Datavian again kept him from sitting up. "I saw little before a fireball laid me out."

"_What a little liar we have on our hands," _ Datavian hissed, his voice suddenly deeper. Donnovan stared up at him, and saw the orange light behind the human's eyes. This wasn't Datavian alone, then. "_I know you helped that druid and that blood elf escape, Donnovan. I am not pleased. One should not steal another's tools and toys."_

Donnovan braced himself for the oncoming pain, and for several long minutes his world was nothing but agony. Finally, when the spell gripping him had abated and he lay there, close to simply begging for death, Datavian chuckled.

"_I know how you can fix this, however." _He fixed Donnovan with a glare. "_Find that druid. Kill her. Bring her body back to me."_

Donnovan's heart sank. No, he couldn't do this! He wouldn't! He-

He...he wasn't feeling any sort of compulsion to obey...

"No, please," he tried aloud, waiting for the painful punishment that came from disobeying. The only pain came from Datavian jabbing stiffened fingers into the night elf's scorched flesh.

"_Do as I command. Kill her."_

"Y-yes sir," Donnovan hissed, eyes rolling back as the pain threatened to send him careening into unconsciousness. When he came fully back to his senses, Datavian was gone and he was alone. He carefully sat up and dragged himself to where the vial of his healing salve still lay on the dungeon floor. They'd used most of it on the blood elf, but there was enough there that it should at least take the edge off the pain.

That wasn't the important thing however. What was important was Donnovan had refused an order...and the mental punishment hadn't come.

"I-i refuse to kill that druid." His voice echoed back to him, and he braced himself, waiting. Again, no pain.

"I won't do it, you can't make me." There, a direct challenge to his order. Several long moments passed, and still the only agony he experienced was that from his chest when he accidentally pulled the flesh apart while applying the salve.

He was disobeying a direct order...and not being punished for it.

"Intriguing..."


	21. Chapter 21

Savion and Sechi were holding a conversation between themselves, speaking rapidly in Draenic, as they supposedly led Saliea and the others to the place that had been made available for them to rest. The others were silent, all mulling over everything Mikael had told them. When they reached the 'neutral' inn (Savion himself called it this, but would not explain why) and were all seated at a low table, they finally began to talk. Saliea, before the two draenei paladins could leave, caught the arm of Sechi and whispered to her in low tones; the draenei's eyes widened, she thanked the druid, and then with further discussion in Draenic with her husband the two departed. Sighing to herself, Sal seated herself in Sevei's lap and leaned back into him; Tebrion cleared his throat and pointedly looked away, a look of resignation on his face.

"So wat was all dat?" Kakum asked after a moment, shaking his head. "Mebbe ma grasp on da' human language ain't great, but I don' see why he tol' us all dat."

Brock chuckled. "I'm afraid I was lost as well."

Malchoir cleared his throat. "_What's going on?" _he asked plaintively.

"Oh, right. He doesn't know Common," Meraka sighed. She waved a hand at the rest of them. "I'll catch him up, give me a moment." And with that she launched in a lengthy conversation in Orcish with the blood elf, retelling Mikael's story and quickly translating what Kakum and Brock had just said. "Well, this shall lengthen things, having to translate."

Sal, from her seat in Sevei's lap, nodded at her. "I will translate, as you seem to have caught on to things the rest of us missed."

The orc nodded. "Very well." On the table before them were bowls of fruit and pitchers of water with mugs; she seized a mug and filled it with water before taking a few big gulps. "Now then. Listening to Mikael, I caught a few things. Mikael mentions that he remembered a very different brother growing up, and then an abrupt change in his personality."

"And?" Brock asked. "It could easily be time skewing his recollection."

"But what if it isn't?" Meraka countered, shaking her head. "Listen, Thrall called me away because of a peculiar problem cropping up in Orgrimmar. People were acting strangely, disappearing, and in a few cases, outright attacking the Warchief. Almost as though-"

"As though they weren't in control of their actions," Saliea interrupted. "When I was held captive, Datavian...Datavian used a spell on me that took control of my mind," she finished quietly, voice trailing off as she remembered. Sevei hugged her tightly as she shuddered, wrapping arms around herself. "So he was causing problems elsewhere as he tormented me."

"Or," Meraka said, holding up a finger. "Or he has underlings that he has instructed in his own magic...IF it is his magic. Think about it. We know now that Datavian possesses talent with controlling others, and Mikael himself told us that his brother had a change of heart, so to speak, as he was growing up. What if Datavian himself is merely a victim in all of this?"

Malchoir leaned forward as Saliea translated all this. "_That is only speculation. I, too, suffered at his hands, and personally I don't care whether it was him or someone else making him do it. That man must be stopped."_

"I wasn't saying he shouldn't be stopped," the orc snorted, crossing her arms. "I AM saying, however, that perhaps we ought to approach this differently."

Sal studied the floor, then looked up suddenly. "My father. My father is enslaved to Datavian."

Tebrion turned to look at her, eyes wide. "What? When? How did they capture him? Where is mother?"

The druid held up a hand. "Not our father, Tebrion...MY father, the one who sired me. He lives, and he's trapped."

They fell silent once more as Saliea reached beneath her tunic and produced the two lockets. "I received this one from Lord Staghelm, and this one from my father Donnovan," she explained quietly. "There is at least one innocent man caught up in all of this, if not more."

"We need to speak with Mikael," Tebrion said into the silence that followed. "He seems determined to see his brother dead. Can we allow that to happen if, in fact, Datavian is merely a slave himself?"

* * *

Mikael and Ishanah sat in silence for several minutes, Mikael squirming as Ishanah simply studied him.

"Could...could you not do that? I feel like you're looking through me, not at me," he finally said.

The draenei chuckled. "My apologies, I was merely thinking."

"About?"

"A great many things," Ishanah sighed. "Mikael, are you familiar with the history of my people?"

Mikael shook his head. "Not really. Aside from the stories of you crashlanding on our world, I don't know much of anything."

Ishanah inhaled deeply, held it a moment, then blew out the air slowly. "Our story begins on another world entirely. There, our great leaders Archimonde, Kil'jaeden, and Velen, led our people in peace. Then the Legion came, and lured Archimonde and Kil'jaeden into selling our people into slavery for power...those who did not escape Argus with the Prophet Velen were twisted into the horrible creatures you know as Eredar now. Our Prophet is called such, because he has been gifted with the power of clairvoyance...he sees visions, he has dreams. Sometimes, however, this great gift seems to manifest in others for brief periods of time, if the Light wishes for us to see something important and act upon it. Lately, Mikael, my dreams have been filled with you and your brother."

Mikael's brows furrowed. "I...see. I think. What do I and my brother have to do with your history, though?"

"The draenei were once all Eredar...back then, that is simply what we called ourselves, it had nothing to do with the Legion or demons, we only became draenei when we fled." She paused for a moment. "On Argus, there was an eredar named Drasai...we as a race, then, enjoyed all things magical, and often used the arcane in every aspect of our lives. Drasai was different. He preferred to use his own hands to do things – he was an artist and musician, he made the most wonderful musics and instruments."

"Interesting, but I still don't see how this applies to me," Mikael said once Ishanah had fallen silent.

"Drasai was one of those the Prophet was unable to save from the Legion," the draenei said bluntly, sadly. "As well as seeing you and your brother in my dreams, I also see Drasai. He is angry...he blames the draenei for abandoning him to his fate. Many times I have heard of eredar being encountered here on Draenor...they are usually in command of demonic forces for the Legion, but I fear Drasai is different. He seeks to lash out at those of us here, on Draenor, as punishment for his transformation at the hands of the Legion, and he means to do it in the most noticeable way possible. I am the High Priestess of the Aldor, and as such I am most well-known, aside from the Prophet himself."

"Drasai has vowed to destroy me, Mikael, and he intends to use you to do it."

Mikael's jaw dropped open as Ishanah fell silent; half-formed responses were dancing through his head, but Mikael shut his eyes and rested his chin in his hands. "I...say that again?"

"Drasai intends to use you to kill me."

"That's...that's ridiculous. Never would I -"

Ishanah held up a hand. "I'm afraid this is quite serious." She leaned forward, her voice dropping. "You and your brother were born with natural talent for magic...but you, Mikael, were born with something far greater locked away inside you."

"Ridiculous," Mikael said firmly, leaning away. "There's nothing special about me."

"Can you be so sure?" Ishanah asked gently. "Have you done anything extraordinary lately?"

Immediately thoughts of the Light and his supposed healing of a woman came to mind, as well as the image of a blasted demon carcass laying on the grasses of Nagrand... Mikael shook his head violently. "No. No."

"No, what?"

Mikael glared at her. "I refuse to believe any of this. I don't remember anything, so there's no proof I'm any different than what you see before you."

"The woman you saved is proof enough, even if you can't remember the act itself."

Mikael froze. "...how did you know about that?"

Ishanah simply smiled, and Mikael shuddered.

"Fine. Say I believe it. I'm all-powerful and whatnot. You've heard my story, what do you suggest I do?"

Ishanah held up a hand. "First, seek within yourself. Do you feel better now that you have relieved yourself of the weight of your past?"

Much like Ishanah had earlier, Mikael inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, shutting his eyes. "I...maybe. Somewhat." He opened his eyes, frowning at Ishanah. "Stop doing that mind-reading thing, would you?"

Ishanah chuckled. "Insight is different from telepathy, I assure you." She shifted sitting positions, smoothing her robes out across her knees. "Now. If your friends listened carefully, they may have learned far more than you realize. Does this worry you?"

"Stop it," Mikael replied through gritted teeth. "Get out of my head."

"I am merely reading your body language," Ishanah replied. "You saw your past as something to be hidden, yet you revealed it to your friends. Something about that worries you."

"I..." the warlock began, crossing his arms. "I...I don't want them to pity me. Or judge me unfairly. Or..."

"Or abandon you?"

"Yeah, that," Mikael grunted, staring at the floor. "I've gone so many years without companions...in my mind, I was protecting myself." He looked up once more. "I've lost my humanity, haven't I? All these years, all I wanted to do was find my brother. I didn't care if I died in the process."

"That you worried you lost it only proves you never did," Ishanah replied.

"I'm...happier than I have been in years, and it's thanks to them," Mikael went on sullenly. "But the thought of losing them terrifies me. I thought Sal was gone, dead, and it was my fault...Datavian would have never targeted her had she not been connected to me. I almost wish I had never met them all."

"You love them, do you not?"

After a long moment, Mikael nodded. "It's like...they've replaced the family I've lost."

Ishanah sat up straight, hands on her knees. "Family is a strange thing. Is it not restricted to blood relations alone. What do you think your friends learned from you?"

When Mikael shrugged, Ishanah shook her head. "No, I wish to hear an answer. Take your time, search your mind and heart."

"They've learned of my shame..." he said quietly. "I want the Light back more than anything, but I've damned myself too much to hope to ever feel it within me again. They...they know my family is all but gone, and why I have struggled and searched for the better part of my life."

"Is that all?" Ishanah prompted.

Mikael sighed heavily. "You've obviously seen something I am missing."

"You will know the answer, in due time," Ishanah said. "Now I must ask what you plan to do."

Rubbing his face, Mikael wracked his mind. What could he do now? Saliea was safely back with them, escaped from Datavian somehow. "I should ask Saliea how she got away from my brother...perhaps I can retrace her escape and find him, and finally bring him to justice."

"You mean, kill him."

Mikael was silent for a long moment, then "Yes."

"Are you certain you wish to do this?"

"Yes," Mikael said quickly, staring at the floor. "I will kill him for all he's done."

Ishanah clucked her tongue. "You are trying to convince yourself, yet something holds you back. What is it?"

Running a hand through his hair, Mikael sighed shakily. "He's...he's my brother, damn it all!" he finally exclaimed. "He's my _brother!_ I shouldn't be planning his death! He's family! He and father and I, family!" He felt his eyes burning but didn't care. "When I think about him, I see a much younger me, tagging along after him on the way to Stormwind, waving a wooden practice sword. I see him reading to me fairy tales from all corners of the world. I see him teaching me how to swim, how to write, how to make toy boats from sticks and leaves!" The burning in his eyes resolved into a few tears that dripped down his cheeks, and he angrily dashed them away. "I know he's a monster and must be stopped, but damn it when I think of him I still see the brother I knew and loved! I want to know why! Why he changed, why he's doing all this!"

"What if I'm wrong? What if he can still be saved?" Mikael whispered.

His head drooped, resting his forehead on on knee, the moisture from his eyes dripping directly to the stone instead of running down his face; Ishanah got up and returned to her seat beside Mikael, gently placing a hand on the human's shoulder.

"What does your heart tell you?"

Mikael shook his head, rubbing at wet cheeks. "I don't believe my brother is capable of such evil. I don't think I've ever believed it. He's twisted, he's sick...he's so different from what he once was."

Ishanah nodded slowly. "Sometimes, when one falls ill...when one is in so much pain that they lose themselves and lash at others because they know not how to ask for help...sometimes, release is the best choice. The choice to kill is never made lightly," Ishanah went on softly. "What you must do, then, is understand the _why_. _Why_ you set out to kill."

Mikael ground a palm into an eye as he looked up at the draenei. "I can't believe I've gone all this time vowing to kill him, and now that the time when he is _within my reach _has come, I can't bring myself to contemplate it! I am such a spineless idiot!"

"You are not," Ishanah said sharply. "You are selfless, self-sacrificing, honest, loyal, and above all compassionate. Being reluctant to kill is not weakness, but strength of heart. And the knowledge of knowing when to spare life, and when to end it, is also a strength. It is my firm belief that you will know what needs to be done when the time comes."

"And if I don't?"

Ishanah smiled sadly at him. "Then it will not only be my death that day."

Despite the gravity of the statement, Mikael found himself chuckling bitterly as he wiped his face dry and willed himself to stop crying. "What makes you think I'll allow him to kill you?"

"If Drasai seizes the power you carry within yourself, I fear he will not stop with only my death."

"You keep talking about this power within me," Mikael said, sniffling. "How can you be so sure, so incredibly sure, that I possess it? I wielded the Light once, who is to say it simply did not return to me at that one moment so I could save a life?"

Ishanah shut her eyes, appearing to be deep in thought; Mikael waited patiently, peeling off his gloves and setting them aside so what wetness was on them could dry. Finally, Ishanah bowed her head.

"I could show you, I am certain, if you find yourself willing to trust me."

"What do you mean to do?" Mikael asked, staring at his hands.

"When true trust is achieved, there can sometimes be a mental link made between individuals. It is an opening of the minds to one another, thinking and being heard as though one spoke aloud, and feeling emotion as though they were your own."

Mikael flinched, a sudden memory coming to him. 'Mindlink. Mind. There was someone there with me inside the demon. I'm sure of it.' He shook his head briefly and looked up to see Ishanah intently staring at him. "...what?"

"You flinched. Is something wrong?"

"I...I think I remembered something just now, about the fight in Nagrand," Mikael said slowly. "I think I heard someone. Someone was talking to me while I was being swallowed."

Ishanah's face darkened. "Someone talking to you? Do you remember what you heard?"

Mikael shook his head. "N-no, I don't think so."

"We are running out of time, then, if Drasai has already attempted to dominate you." The draenei shifted so she was facing Mikael and raised her hands. "Please. Attempt the link with me."

"You really think this Drasai tried to take control of me?" Mikael asked, allowing Ishanah to place her hands on either side of his head.

"I believe he tried taking you when you were younger," the draenei said gravely. "Had you not been found, and your brother not interrupted, we very likely would not have met until you were standing over my remains."

Ishanah's hands rested gently on either side of his face and from her fingers Mikael felt the first few wisps of magic reaching out for him. The magic felt old, strange; Mikael had a hard time grasping at it and even attempting to open a link. It was like acting as a focus - he needed to seize the power coming at him and direct it where it needed to go. In this case, he likely needed to direct it inward, but that was only speculation.

'Trust me, Mikael.'

'Trust,' Mikael mused, thinking he heard Ishanah within his mind. 'Trusting her is easier said than done. Trust must be earned...but Ishanah is trusting me to keep my brother from killing her,' he added after a moment. 'She would have to. The easiest way for her to prevent Datavian from using me against her is to kill me...leaving me alive is a gamble. Should I trust her then?'

The magic was mounting, but had nowhere to go; it was like he was pouring it into a container and leaving it sit - it wasn't doing anything useful, it just existed. He could feel Ishanah sitting next to him, but it was as though the draenei was miles and miles away; the draenei was both close and yet far away.

'Fine. I trust you.'

He once again reached out and grasped the magic around him, and felt Ishanah react; for a moment there was a brief problem of Mikael becoming disoriented - he felt absorbed into the draenei and couldn't tell where Ishanah's mind ended and his own began. Finally, he felt Ishanah take a mental step backward, and the two separated.

'That was a little closer than I had intended, my apologies.'

Mikael was left with lingering feelings of mortality, sadness, resignation, and yet a burning, fierce determination to see the end of the Burning Legion and to restore peace to the scattered draenei; these were Ishanah's thoughts, and Mikael experienced a brief feeling of panic when he wondered what Ishanah had taken away from their brief melding of minds.

'Now, shall we see what we can't find hidden away within your thoughts?'

'I'm not so certain we should be looking,' Mikael thought with a sigh.

'Are you afraid of what we will find?'

'Yes,' came the honest answer. 'There's parts of me that I'm frightened of.'

'Hiding, and hiding from, your inner demons will never bring you peace of mind.'

'Can we just do whatever it is you plan to do? I'd rather not spend more time in here than we need to. It's a lonely place.'

Ishanah chuckled. 'Very well.'

Mikael shut his eyes and fell inward...and found himself in a strangely familiar place. It was dark, and he floated in nothingness. Was he really this empty inside?

'You imagine yourself empty, so it is.'

He ignored Ishanah this time and sought to orient himself. Why did he feel both out of place and oddly at home? The darkness around him was a charcoal gray, with shadows upon shadows that shifted just beyond his sight; he had the eerie feeling of something watching him from the depths...but that was ridiculous. This was his mind, wasn't it?

'You yourself said you fear parts within you.'

'Quit reminding me,' Mikael sighed. 'Have you found my so-called power yet?'

'I can only see what you wish me to see,' came the amused reply. 'I stand in a darkened room, bare of anything. If you wish me to truly help you, you must open yourself to my help.'

'Why do I believe I'm going to regret this?' Mikael sighed heavily, then turned to see Ishanah behind him. Ishanah didn't look surprised to see him, but instead bowed her head.

'So where is this power?'

Ishanah shrugged. 'Ask yourself. Seek what you have hidden.'

'Quit talking in damn riddles,' Mikael snapped. 'I'm tired of this, you hear me? I'm tired. I want it all to end, and instead here I am letting a draenei older than dirt dig around in my thoughts!' He whirled and seemed to stalk away from Ishanah. 'This is a waste of time. We're looking for something that probably doesn't even exist to begin with!' He turned again, and with a start realized Ishanah was gone; he opened his eyes in time to see the draenei drop her hands and fix him with an emotionless gaze.

"Time grows short," she said finally. "You should speak with your friends before departing."

Mikael rubbed his forehead as his head throbbed. "I will. I intended to anyhow." With a sigh, he stood, a sense of dread falling over him; he felt as though a dark shadow loomed over his shoulder and resisted the urge to check. "Good bye, Ishanah."

"Good luck, Mikael."

Ishanah watched as the human walked away, only pausing to retrieve the gloves he had sat down earlier. As he was about to disappear from the room, he paused and turned around.

"I know what you just did, Ishanah."

"Oh?"

A small smile flickered across Mikael's face. "You played my conscious. Thank you."

"Have you made your decision then?"

"...yes, I believe I have," Mikael said after a moment of silence.

"Light guide you, warlock."

"And you, High Priestess," Mikael said softly, turning and leaving.

Ishanah sat in silence for several moments, then looked up at A'dal.

"Was I correct in speaking with him?"

_He feels more focused, his turmoil has lessened. Your influence helped him calm his mind. Whether it was a positive influence has yet to be seen._

Ishanah shook her head. "He may have simply buried his thoughts more deeply." She sighed heavily, then smiled. "I saw something that gave me hope, however." Spreading her hands, Ishanah trailed a finger through the air with a gleaming streamer of light following it; she traced a glowing sigil into the air, admiring it a moment. "He fears his inner demons, as any reasonable thinking being will do on occasion. The difference between him and others, however, is it is not any true demon he fears." Ishanah blew gently and the sigil disappeared like smoke. "Mikael doesn't know why, but he fears the power within himself whether he wants to acknowledge its existence or not."

_The shadows you saw within him then?_

"Are likely where he has hidden the knowledge of unlocking his true potential," Ishanah confirmed. "It was so close and he refused to see it for what it was." She smiled gently. "Drasai shall have difficulty bending this one to his will."

_And if you are wrong?_

"Then I fear blood shall run in Shattrath's streets once more."

* * *

A few polite questions pointed him to the correct inn; Mikael found himself pausing at the doorway, staring back the way he'd come, thinking. Ishanah had given him a lot to think about...but his mind was made up at least, on more than one thing.

He exhaled and shoved the inn door open, taking in the scene, aware of everyone turning to look at him. Sevei and Saliea sat together at a table along with Brock, Kakum (who appeared to be wrestling with a grumpy nightsaber kitten), and a blood elf Mikael didn't have a name for. Tebrion and Meraka were both stretched out on low beds against the far wall, the mage deeply asleep and the priest looking up at him in surprise.

Mikael took this all in, then held up a hand when everyone began to speak at once. "I...please. I'm aware you all must have questions, I have more than enough for myself as it is." He let his gaze roam over them all, smiling faintly. "I have a few things to ask of you, if I may."

"Anything," Saliea said, leaning forward from where she sat in Sevei's lap.

"First...I suppose it's too much to hope you all will leave my brother to me?"

Kakum snorted loudly. "No chance o' dat happenin' pal. If dere's fightin' ta be done, we all gunna do it no matter wat ya got ta say about it."

"Fighting is what I'm hoping to avoid," Mikael sighed. "Sal, how did you escape?"

She reached into a pocket and produced a small object, holding it up. "This little mirror. My father gave it to me...it will teleport yourself and anything touching you to any person or place you envision."

"May I have it?" he asked quietly, holding out his hand. The druid got up, crossing the room slowly and holding it above his outstretched hand.

"Mikael, we're not letting you go alone," she said softly, dangling it above his fingers, then abruptly returning it to her pocket. "We're all with you, no matter what. And," she said, staring at the floor, "Datavian intends to come _here."_

_ "_Here?" Mikael repeated, eyes widening. "What? Why? When?"

"I know not. My father warned me before I escaped however." She turned, looking back at Sevei. "I warned your parents, Sevei. They know trouble heads this direction."

"It isn't as though it wasn't expected though, correct?" Meraka muttered sleepily. Apparently she wasn't as deeply asleep as Mikael had thought. She rolled over on her bed, stretching out on her side to face them. "What town has people walking around in full armor at all times of day? Shattrath surely does not face that much threat on a daily basis?"

Sevei shook his head. "I was surprised at the number of people within the city. Generally our forces are deployed elsewhere...that there are so many here does not speak well for the future."

"It means they believe an attack shall come here," Meraka said. "And with good reason - look at what we've seen so far."

"You tink too much," Kakum muttered. His nightsaber had finally seemed to calm down and was sitting moodily hunched over in his lap. The troll absently scratched her ears. "So wat's da plan?"

Mikael shrugged, shaking his head as he did so. "All I am concerned with is my brother - I am no strategist or commander, I shall leave the planning to the draenei who dwell here." He let his arms drop to his sides. "I wish you all would just flee..."

"Warlock, let me introduce to you a concept called loyalty," Meraka snorted loudly. "It is something the Horde values above all else." She sat up, straightening her robes. "We are not leaving you here to face your brother alone. Whether you like it or not, we fight beside you...let us end this the same way we started it: together."

"I don't deserve friends like you all," Mikael sighed, laughing helplessly. "Fine then. Just...just keep yourselves safe, please?"

They all gave him grins. "Just leave us sometin ta kill," Kakum put in.

Running his fingers through his hair again, Mikael blew out another sigh. One final thing to ask...

"Uh, Sevei? May I have a word with you in private?"

The shaman looked surprised as he stood, nodded silently, and followed Mikael outside of the inn. Once the door was securely shut behind him, Mikael jerked his head toward the side of the building. "Come, I want no one to overhear this."

Mikael slipped around the side of the inn and pressed his back to the wall, lightly chewing on his lower lip as he waited for Sevei to step around him. After a moment of silence, Mikael finally turned to the draenei.

"I have a favor to ask of you, Sevei. I trust you enough to do it."

"It depends on what you ask," he replied. "Ask your question, and I will tell you whether I am able to do it or not."

Mikael swallowed hard; he'd been so sure of this earlier, and once again he was finding it hard to voice it-

'No. No more indecision. You've made up your mind.'

"There is an eredar named Drasai after me," the human said finally. "He seeks to use me to destroy Ishanah, perhaps even destroy what's left of the draenei."

Sevei's eyes were wide when Mikael turned to him.

"I don't know much about Drasai's plans, beyond him intending to somehow force me to kill Ishanah... Please, Sevei. If he...if he manages to take control of me, and there's no hope of my return... If it comes to my life or Ishanah's, slay me."

When Sevei finally found his voice, all he could sputter was half-formed refusals. Mikael shook his head, fixing Sevei with a glare. "No, no refusing me on this. I trust you Sevei. If I am dominated, kill me without hesitation." He looked away after a moment. "I'd rather die than be a pawn of evil. There's not telling what I could be forced to do."

Sevei was silent, shaking his head slowly. "No...no, I cannot agree to-"

"Would you do it if I attempted killing S-Saliea?" Mikael said, stuttering over her name - the thought of committing such an act was unthinkable, but then he hardly would be in control of his actions if Drasai took hold of him.

The shaman looked up sharply, Mikael smiling sadly. "If Drasai takes control, Sevei, it would be as good as killing me...please. If it happens, slay me before I harm anyone."

"I...I promise, my friend," Sevei finally said, his voice hardly more than a whisper. The shaman was looking everywhere but at the human; Mikael clapped a hand to his shoulder.

"Thank you. I know it's not an easy favor," he said quietly. "I trust you to do it."

"Why?" Sevei asked sharply. "Why do you trust me over the others?"

"Because I know Saliea wouldn't have the heart to do it," Mikael replied sullenly. "Tebrion I doubt would be able to do it either. I fear I might kill Meraka before she had a chance to do anything - there's no telling what Drasai may make me do."

"You are making excuses," Sevei interrupted. "Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?"

Mikael let out a high bark of a laugh. "Who knows anymore?" He turned from the draenei, looking at him from over his shoulder. "Maybe...maybe it just feels like the right decision."

"...you intend to die, don't you?" Sevei called after him as Mikael went to return to the others.

The warlock stopped dead in his tracks, stiffening. The only movement he made was to clench and unclench his fists, then finally he quickly walked out of sight leaving a quiet, contemplative - and unsettled - Sevei in his wake.

* * *

When he opened the door and stepped inside, he made sure to fix a smile on his face; whether it would fool anyone wasn't apparent, but he didn't want to let any of them guess at his thoughts. Ishanah had already disturbed him enough, Mikael really didn't need further distractions.

Saliea looked up at him with a smile. "Are you hungry?"

He shrugged. "Not really." She tilted her head, an exasperated look on her face.

"Copper for your thoughts?" the druid asked, gesturing for the empty chair beside her.

"They're better left unvoiced," he responded, dropping into the chair, fixing his phony smile back on his face. 'No need to worry her,' he thought silently.

Sevei was coming through the door when a high-pitched, clear tone sounded from outside the inn. The shaman was immediately back out the door, leaving the rest of them staring after him in confusion; Mikael stood, tugging his gloves back on as he hurried for the doorway with Saliea on his heels. Pushing open the door showed that people were rushing about, fastening armor and drawing weapons.

"What was that?" Saliea asked quietly, eyes tracking the path of Sevei, whom she could see winding his way through the people.

"The alarm for approaching enemy forces," came a reply from a male draenei approaching them. His robes were heavy-looking and the deep green material had arcane runes stitched in golden thread. The ornamented top of a staff poked over one shoulder, a bright pink orb with a swirl of crimson smoke within it mounted atop the golden-burnished wood of the weapon. The male bowed deeply to them, revealing a knot of ice-blue hair secured flat to the top of his head - he, unlike any draenei they had yet seen, seemed to lack the prominent forehead plate the males typically possessed.

"I greet you, Saliea Silvermist and warlock Mikael. My name is Zephyr, I am Sevei's eldest brother. I have been instructed to lead you to my parents - it appears my brother has already started that way. If you would please accompany me."

Sal turned as the others filed out behind her. "It would seem it has begun."

When she turned back, she saw Zephyr staring off into the milling crowd and then realized Mikael no longer stood beside her. Eyes widening, she grabbed Zephyr's arm.

"Did he-?"

"I'm afraid he did," the male replied, looking down at her. "Do you know where he is going?"

"I fear the worst, to be honest," Sal said grimly. She looked from Zephyr to Tebrion as the priest walked up behind her. "I...I'm going to follow him. The rest of you go with Zephyr...tell Sevei where I have gone."

"Sister, wait!" Tebrion yelled, but she slipped into the crowd and disappeared after Mikael.

* * *

Ishanah stood silently behind a line of soldiers, both draenei of the Sha'tar and the mixed races of Horde and Alliance who had pledged themselves to Shattrath's defense. They had arranged themselves at the bridge leading north out of the city; there, on the horizon, a darkened cloud approached. It was no storm coming, no natural storm anyhow. Scouts had reported a wild storm of malevolent magic rapidly approaching, with no visible center.

The cause of the magic was obvious to Ishanah; even at this distance it reeked of demonic corruption and she resisted the urge to shudder when she wondered at what such reckless use of magic might be doing to the environment it was racing through.

The storm came and hovered just outside Shattrath, spreading out to partially encircle the northern border; Ishanah eyed it silently, trying not to think of the brave men and women that would fall this day...once again, she felt a high degree of responsibility for the loss of life sure to come.

_Do not blame yourself_, she heard A'dal whisper in his mind. With a deep breath, Ishanah straightened.

"Light bless you all and guide your arms this day," she whispered under his breath, willing her blessing over everyone gathered near.

A ripple through the soldiers caught her attention, and she strained her ears to listen in on what was being passed through the ranks like wildfire. Her eyes widened when she made sense of the mutterings; whirling, Ishanah caught the barest glimpses of a flaming dreadsteed barreling its way between the rows of soldiers.

"And so it begins," she said softly.

* * *

Mikael pulled his mount up short halfway across the bridge, squarely facing the shifting maelstrom.

"Show yourself, brother."


	22. Chapter 22

The shadows parted like a curtain, and Mikael narrowed his eyes at the figure that stepped through.

"Greetings, little Mikael."

"Datavian," Mikael growled, hand inching to Spellcleaver's hilt.

Datavian's eyes followed the movement, an expression crossing his face that turned his gaunt features into a mockery of a smile. "Ah, and there what should be mine as well."

"You never deserved this weapon," Mikael said quietly, closing his fingers around the hilt and sliding it a few inches from its scabbard. "Mother and father put their heart and soul into Spellcleaver. The moment you destroyed our family you forfeited any right you had to wield it."

"Ah, but that is where we differ," Datavian sighed, shrugging. "Spellcleaver is rightfully mine. It shall be one of the many things I plan on taking from you as I correct your course and finally place you on the proper path."

"You may have it when you pry it from my dead hand," came the blunt reply.

Datavian chuckled, shaking his head. "Ah, I don't intend to kill you. You are far more useful to us alive."

Mikael drew Spellcleaver and pointed it at the other man. "Enough. Enough running, for the both of us. This ends here."

"So it does, so it does." Datavian shrugged again, then inhaled deeply and smiled, stretching his thin lips. "One way or the other."

Hands moving faster than Mikael could track, Datavian launched a spell that ripped through the air toward him; a blur hit him in the midsection and rolled them back along the bridge while the magic vaporized chunks of stone behind them. Mikael blinked up into golden eyes, Sal nose to whiskery nose with him. She sprang off as quickly as she'd hit him, then prowled around his legs when he'd regained his feet.

"What are you doing?" he whispered angrily, glancing at her briefly before returning his gaze to his brother.

"Saving your idiot skin," she replied quietly, settling herself as though she meant to spring away. "Running away alone is pure suicide."

"And there's my lovely pet," Datavian said, quieting any further conversation between the warlock and druid as Mikael bristled and abruptly stepped forward.

"Touch her and regret it."

"Oh, but I already have touched her, tasted her," Datavian said, bursting into laughter as Mikael impulsively took several steps forward. "Temper temper."

"Mikael, keep your head," Sal muttered. "Don't let him taunt you."

"Delightful little friends you have brought along," Datavian snorted, eying the ranks of soldiers arrayed behind Mikael inside Shattrath. "I look forward to meeting them. I, too, did not come alone however...let me introduce you to MY friends!"

Mikael lunged forward, swung with Spellcleaver and only hit empty air as Datavian leapt backwards impossibly high and disappeared back within the magical storm. A moment later the shifting, wispy shadows blew away and dissipated into the air, and revealed a sea of demonic beings. A great roar went up, and Datavian appeared floating above them in a flash of smoke and fire.

"Kill them all, leave the warlock for me," the human ordered coldly.

The sea surged forward.

Mikael felt an immense pressure of magic at his back, and suddenly full battalions of soldiers - some fully draenei, some with other races mixed in - began to appear in the midst of the demons, hacking and slashing and killing many of them before the beasts even knew enemies were among them. A glance over his shoulder showed an empty expanse where the men had been standing earlier; now the only beings in that space were mages who had obviously been interspersed in the ranks. They had teleported soldiers out into the middle of the attackers, causing instant chaos for a few precious moments, enough to give the defenders an advantage.

A grim smile inched its way across Mikael's face as he raced across the bridge and began to wade his way through the melee, eyes on his brother.

* * *

Meraka lowered her arms, having helped Zephyr and the other mages mass-teleport the draenei forces out into the fight.

"How do you intend to fight?" Zephyr asked her, once the last group had been moved into position.

She reached into a pouch and pulled out a single feather. "With this."

"With that?"

"With this," she repeated, blowing on it as it lay in her outstretched palm. "My master was adept at putting enchantments into objects permanently, or at least for extended periods of time. I too am talented in this field." The feather floated from her hand and spun lazily in the air around her, like it was caught in a gentle cyclone. A moment later and it pressed against her forehead, disappearing physically but leaving a faint outline of a stylized feather on her skin. She bent her legs and sprang into the air, and stayed there; Zephyr nodded in approval.

"A levitation spell, impressive. How long will it last?"

"I believe the last one I used lasted six hours."

Again the draenei mage nodded. "Very well. If you require assistance, you know where to find us."

Meraka reached into her pouch and pulled out another feather. "Care to join me?"

Zephyr eyed the feather, then grinned.

* * *

"I am not some beast of burden!"

"Jus' run forwar, moocow!"

Kakum sat on Brock's shoulders, tucking his feet together and just under the tauren's chin - constantly adjusting himself to remain balanced - and released a steady stream of arrows into the front ranks of the demons charging for them. The two were part of a group holding the entrances to the city in the lower levels, other Horde races pressed in against them; those few Alliance members assigned to this area seemed pushed aside, out of place with the Horde, and were currently hard-pressed holding back several snarling doomguards. While they had seen earlier that the two factions weren't at each others' throats, apparently they had no qualms about leaving each other to their own business.

One of the humans dropped to his knees to avoid the swing of an axe and received a kick to his face instead, stunning him. Another human, a dwarf, and two night elves stepped in to ring the fallen man, battering back the demons as he recovered.

Kakum shifted his aim and peppered the doomguards with a spray of arrows. One of the night elves looked around wildly for the source of the attack, and spied Kakum; the troll flipped him a salute and turned his attention back to the bulk of the demons struggling to come through into the city. The elf looked confused, but nonetheless returned the salute and went back to fighting.

Kakum's next few volleys went much too high as Brock shifted and nearly dumped the troll off his shoulders.

"Oi! Warn me nex time mon!" Kakum sputtered, awkwardly scrambling to climb back to his perch.

"If you can't sit still, then don't stay there!" the tauren retorted, slamming his hammer into the spine of a felhunter that had managed to wiggle its way through the front line and reach them. "I have more important things to do than act as your perch!"

"Yeh, well, I kin shoot tings from up here witout hittin anyone else," Kakum said, sighting down a shaft and grinning when it took a succubus through the throat. "Shootin ain't dat easy wit ya bouncin about, ya know, so we both got our problems."

Brock's hammer crunched through something else, a shout catching his attention. The Alliance side was being badly outnumbered, and while they were holding admirably sooner or later they'd simply be overrun and the Horde forces weren't paying much attention to them. "Hang on then," the tauren warned, turning and lowering his head.

"Why, wat ya gunna - hooboy!" Kakum screeched, nearly toppling again as Brock charged with his head low into the Alliance forces.

Brock reached the center of the group assaulting the night elves and raised a hoof, stomping and shattering stone and sending a few nearby demons crashing to the knees, making them easy prey for the tauren's raised hammer. Kakum slung his bow to his back and pulled his little hatchet free, swinging it to keep demons at bay; he kicked out and caught a doomguard in the jaw, grimacing as he felt a tooth break free under his foot and get lodged between his toes.

"Great, jus great!" he muttered, other hand reaching for the sword strapped across his back as he continuously used the hatchet to keep hands and claws away from him.

The Alliance forces didn't question the help, they simply formed ranks around the tauren and together they began to force the demons back up the tunnel-like entryway into the city, working their way to stand side by side with the Horde and force the intruders back.

* * *

Sal was a whirlwind of claws and teeth, tearing into any demon flesh she came into contact with. She'd lost sight of Mikael quickly, and so found herself by herself in the midst of the fighting, somewhere between the empty bridge behind her and the draenei forces ahead of her. Luckily for her, she was simply too fast for those demons in her immediate area to have any hope of striking her; she was turning them into shredded piles of meat without taking any damage herself. She wondered where Sevei was, and prayed he was unharmed even as she spun and dodged, ripped and tore.

Finally she gained some breathing room and slunk away to the edges of the fighting, panting and soaked in blood - none of it her own, so far as she could tell.

A rippling blast of energy arched overhead and slammed into the backlines of the demonic force, scattering those it didn't kill instantly and making Sal's fur stand on end. She recognized that spell, however. Fandral Staghelm had arrived and had joined the fray.

Sure enough, she heard the familiar war horns of the Sentinels blow and heard the padded footsteps of nightsaber mounts thundering over the bridge. Turning she spied the small Darnassian force charging ahead and slamming headlong into the enemy line, forming into a wedge and pushing forward. They met up with the Sha'tari forces and began to push forward even further; Sal, however, stayed where she was because she had a good feeling she'd been spotted. No matter how well she'd hidden over the years, Fandral had a sixth sense when it came to finding her.

She shook herself, sending blood flinging in every direction, as a mounted Staghelm approached her, wearing full battle armor including an antlered helm.

"How long ago did this begin?"

"Just started," she replied, standing as she returned to elf form. "You haven't missed much of the fun."

He looked beyond her at the battle raging at every doorway into Shattrath. "I spoke with Ishanah, she told me go wherever I felt I was most needed." He returned his gaze to her. "Come, I will require you."

She took the offered hand and climbed up behind him. "What for?"

"You'll see."

Sal stared back into the city, thoughts once more on Sevei, as Fandral directed his nightsaber into the middle of their forces. Those who noted them coming made room for the Archdruid to pass, others they had to wait until they had a chance to safely pass; finally Fandral swung off his mount and tugged Sal off behind him.

"What do you need me for?"

Fandral smiled at her, grim and thin-lipped. "Targeting."

Saliea stared. "...what?"

"Find the thickest bunching of demons you can find and send me a signal."

"Are your antlers screwed on a little too tightly?" she asked incredulously. "The man who's spent much of my life doing his best to keep me from danger is now sending me out into it?"

"And you've spent much of your life running headlong into it," he snapped. "Now go before we lose this chance." He placed his hands on her head and whispered beneath his breath; Sal jumped as woody, sharpened thorns burst painlessly from her skin. She shrank down into catform and almost looked demonic herself, spikes jutting from her body; spinning, she dashed off into the chaos, brushing off attacks that came her direction.

When she found herself staring up into the face of a pitlord, she realized she'd reached nearly the back lines of the demonic forces; a kick dazed her a moment, but made the pitlord roar in pain as her thorns tore through armor and dug into flesh. She darted away and changed forms, almost tempted to simply flail aimlessly; now the demons had a rampaging, spiked bear to deal with. When she'd cleared enough room for a few seconds of safety, she raised her head and let loose an earsplitting roar and hoped Fandral was paying attention.

He was.

A split instant passed, then as the demons were closing back in on her, a swirling cyclone slammed into the ground, surrounding her even as roots ripped from the ground and began twining around their appendages. Sal recognized what was coming and shielded her eyes as lightning began to shatter the ground, the wind kicked up and the demons around her began to scream. She allowed herself to return to elven form, not overly worried at being attacked, not with a full blown hurricane roaring around her.

After what seemed like an eternity later, the lightning and the winds died away, and Sal looked up to see dead demons laying about, easily forty yards in each direction littered with corpses. Without a word, the druid returned to cat form and used this time to disappear into the shadows.

* * *

Malchoir ducked and wove a path of destruction through the small group of demons he'd caught trying to sneak in over the wall. They were a pitifully small group - three succubi, a few imps and a single felguard - but still promised the blood elf rogue a good fight. He was thankful his armor and his weapons had been retrieved before his escape from Datavian; his daggers felt right in his hands as they repeatedly flashed out and dug deep into demonic flesh.

His movement slowed abruptly as one of the succubi stood back and winked at him.

"_Oop, I think not," _he said, seizing the spell with his own innate magic and drawing it to his palm; the shimmering orb of energy disappeared, sinking into his skin, and now Malchoir literally vibrated with energy - he almost felt giddy from the rush as he tugged a throwing dagger from his boot and tossed it at the succubus who had tried bespelling him. She dodged, tripped over an imp and disappeared over the wall - a moment later he heard a thud and began to wonder if the leathery wings they possessed were simply for show.

That left him with one succubus, two imps, and the felguard. The elf's grace had kept him from the swinging blade of the felguard, but he wore several burn marks from that damned imp. With a grin plastered across his face - _damn _he felt good! - he leapt in a somersault over the head of one imp and landed on the other, grinding both boots into the thing frail body and feeling several pops before he had to leap away to keep his balance and to avoid the lashing whip of that succubus.

He ducked to the side as the felguard's axe slammed into the stone where he'd been standing, but he was caught off-balance as the demon swung a fist and slammed it into his left hip, spinning him to the ground and down on one knee. Grunting, he flattened himself to the ground and laughed as a whip flashed over him and wrapped around the haft of the axe, both demons stumbling; Malchoir kicked out and sent the felguard tumbling to the stone, finishing it by jamming a dagger to the hilt through the eyesocket.

As he rolled to his feet, something seized his shoulders and pulled him flat again; panic flared in him until he looked up into the tired face of the night elf male that had been there at their escape from Datavian's dungeon.

"_You?"_

The elf said something in his own language that Malchoir couldn't understand, then stood in one smooth motion and turned, catching the succubus's whip around one forearm and yanking her forward, thrusting with a delicate-looking sword and spearing her through the gut. She screeched as he tore the whip from her hands and kicked her off his blade, sending her tumbling over the wall.

Malchoir stared at the other male as he wound the whip up and tucked it in his belt and then turned to look down at the blood elf, offering Malchoir a hand up.

He said something further Malchoir couldn't understand, then finally the night elf blew out a sigh and said "Sal?"

"_She's...she's out there, somewhere," _Malchoir said, pointing out into the battle since he knew the elf likely couldn't understand him either.

The night elf stared out that way, biting at his lower lip, and then Malchoir could really get a good look at him. The elf moved as though he was pained, and Malchoir was reminded that he had willingly taken a fireball to the chest to make their escape look authentic. His armor bore no marks, but it also could be a new set - Malchoir didn't recall what he'd been wearing, only that he'd taken the spell head-on. Had he not recovered from that? Why was he here?

Malchoir tilted his head suspiciously when the night elf beckoned to him, pointing over the wall. _"What, do you want me to follow you?"_

Again the elf beckoned, pointing, then saying "Sal" again. Malchoir shrugged, nodded; he owed this elf something, at least, and he meant something to Saliea after all, to whom he owed his life. When the elf jumped over the side and dropped to the ground below, Malchoir followed.

* * *

"The shield stops the infernals, but little else," Zephyr shouted over the wind.

"Infernals?" Meraka shouted back, looking up...and blanching when she saw the steady stream of green meteors striking an invisible shield and vaporizing. "What is producing the shield?"

"A'dal and the other Naaru," came the reply.

The two mages dipped and spun, playing a mad game of cat and mouse with several terrorfiends, as they flew through the air and bombed the demons below with devastating fire magic. Finally the demons had taken note and taken to the air to chase after the mages. Zephyr occasionally tossed a lance of ice over his shoulders as they raced through the air.

"Why doesn't the shield stop the rest of them?" Meraka asked, pirouetting as a terrorfied suddenly rose up in front of her.

"No need," Zephyr answered. "Follow me."

Meraka turned over in midair and dove after the draenei as he went into a nosedive, aiming for the spiral of light rising up from the center of Shattrath. No fewer than six terrorfiends followed, and once they had dove through the light and appeared on the other side, no terrorfiends remained to chase them.

"What just happened?"

Zephyr pointed to the fine rain of ash falling behind them. "A'dal happened. Demons cannot withstand such pure Light." He looked over at her, smiling faintly. "Come, we've much more to destroy before this day is over."

Meraka vowed to keep that little fact in mind as she spun around and followed Zephyr back toward the battle.

She followed along behind him as they flew over the seemingly endless army of demons, raining down fire and biting arcane bolts in their wake. Zephyr, after several minutes, suddenly broke away and, going into an erratic spin, dove for the fighting below. Meraka followed his progress, at first worried that he'd taken a hit that had knocked him unconscious; the draenei dove into a mob of demons and then came up, toting a passenger by the wrists.

Meraka rejoined the mage, flying on her side as she smiled grimly at the mage's passenger.

"Greetings shaman," she said, idly blasting the land beneath her with molten fire.

Sevei was panting and simply nodded to her, apparently not at all surprised to see the two mages flying. After a moment he swallowed hard and looked up at his brother.

"Have you seen Saliea?"

"I have not," Zephyr replied. "I need you, brother. For every demon we kill, five more appear. Use your connection to the elements and see if you can find where these demons are coming from. The area is too saturated with magic for me to locate anything."

"I will need to be touching soil," Sevei replied.

"There," Meraka said, pointing far to their west. "An open area, for the moment."

The mages banked that way, Sevei obviously not happy with his current position when he realized how far up they were.

"Could we...maybe fly a bit lower?" he asked after a moment, looking up at where Zephyr gripped him by the wrists.

"Do you not trust me?" Zephyr chuckled.

"I trust you, it is the abrupt landing I don't trust." Sevei yelped when Zephyr abruptly went into a dive, Meraka flitting around them and laughing.

Zephyr released Sevei right above the ground, landing himself and sliding several feet due to his momentum; Sevei landed and went into a crouch, already falling into himself to seek his connection to the elements. Meraka stayed above in the air, circling to keep an eye on their surroundings.

"There's...something wrong several miles east of here," Sevei said finally.

"Then let's head there," Zephyr said, offering Sevei a hand.

Sevei stared at it, then raised an eyebrow at him. "Why can you two not investigate?"

"We may need more than just us to take care of it," Zephyr said, frowning.

Sevei glanced back the way he'd come, thinking of a certain druid...and a promise. "I...should not go with you. I may be needed here."

Zephyr frowned, but Meraka cut him off with a gesture. "He must have his reasons. Come, we shouldn't waste time - if anything, we can come back for help."

Zephyr nodded, glanced worriedly at Sevei, then sprang into the air after the orc. Sevei stood and waited until they were out of sight, then turned and began to run back toward the fighting, painfully aware that he was now stuck behind enemy lines - too far away to be of any use should Saliea...or Mikael...require him.

* * *

Tebrion's shield surged into being moments before the clawed hand of a satyr scratched down Savion's chestpiece; sparks grated up from the magical holy shield, but didn't even faze the large draenei as he swung his mace around and crushed the satyr's arm just above the elbow, sending the demon bouncing away into its own forces. Sechi worked alongside her husband, shouting orders as she served as protection for the three of them - her shield was battered and slick with blood as she alternated between turning aside attacks and stepping aside so Savion could have an uninhibited chance to swing his huge mace.

Tebrion concentrated on healing and invigorating anyone within his reach, leaving the holy smiting to the paladins; they were doing a far better job than he could, so his talents were better served making sure the ones protecting him were well-protected.

"Where is the warlock?" Sechi shouted over the mayhem.

"I don't know," Tebrion shouted back, healing two men at the same time while blessing a third and cleansing away corruption from another.

"We must find him!"

Suddenly Savion was in front of them, shoving his wife aside and catching a crushing blow across the chest from a wickedly sharp polearm wielded by a burly fiend; there was a loud grating and the draenei staggered, clumsily countering with his mace, but immediately thereafter taking a shadowbolt to the chest. The spell lifted the draenei from his feet and threw him behind Sechi and Tebrion.

"Savion!" Sechi shouted, shattering the kneecap of the fiend and bashing her shield across its ugly face as it fell, leaving it for someone else to finish off.

"I'm fine, hold the line!" Savion gasped in reply.

Tebrion spared the male a glance, seeing that the draenei had carved a shallow furrow in the ground and lay several yards behind them; he turned in time to see a claw tear Sechi's cheek open, which he promptly healed. He expected Savion to come rushing passed them at any time, but several moments passed and still the paladin remained behind them. Tebrion turned again, and saw with dismay that the paladin's chestguard was crushed inward, and a stream of bright blue leaked down the front of his leg-guards. The paladin was applying hands glowing with the Light to his wounds, but his movements were sluggish and hindered by his ruined armor.

"Sechi!"

The woman turned, eyes widening when she took in the sight of her husband.

"Collapse together, hold strong!" she ordered, returning her mace to her belt and slinging her shield across her back as she rushed to Savion's side.

"You stupid, love-struck fool," she growled, hands working at the straps of his armor.

"I'm fine, love, really," he said, grinning weakly.

The front of his armor was shattered inward, embedded in his flesh, and was covered in his blood; Sechi carefully peeled it all away and applied her hands to the ragged hole, intoning prayer after prayer as she willed the injury to close.

Ahead of them Tebrion was doing his best to keep up with the injuries, but with the two heavily armored paladins gone, things were beginning to stack against them. It was as though the demons recognized that without the two draenei, the line was decidedly weaker. He threw spell after spell, strengthening those he could and healing through curses he couldn't shatter; he was so focused on his task that when a soldier came flying through the air at him, the priest was taken entirely off-guard and crashed to the ground with a stunned human in full plate laying on top of him.

The ground shook as Tebrion rolled the man off him and looked up to find himself staring into the face of a doomguard. With a toothy grin, the demon raised weapon and foot both to crush the night elf; Tebrion could only watch as several nearby soldiers threw themselves into the path of the attack, to save him. Tebrion could only watch as they were tossed aside like ragdolls, two of them most certainly dead before they had even hit the ground while the rest landed and bounced like toys, set upon by the demons they'd tossed themselves in front of. All to save Tebrion...their lives gone, just like that. A horrible surge of anger and grief coiled in the priest's stomach, and he felt it bursting upward and outward.

"No, no. Not for me. NO!_" _Tebrion chanted, the last coming out as a desperate scream that seemed to shatter the air itself around him.

The priest erupted into shadow as he leapt to his feet, and an amazing rage unlike anything he'd ever felt came over him; the demons around him cowered and cringed, some clawing at their ears and scrambling to get away. Tebrion meanwhile set his feet and squared his shoulders, breathing raggedly, engulfed in shadows, and gestured; a brilliant stream of blue-tinged energy shot from his palm and slammed into the forehead of a succubus who had remained unaffected by the priest's scream. The demon flinched, faltered, then fell and rolled about on the ground, twitching in agony. Tebrion gestured again and a pillar of black fire engulfed the creature and incinerated her.

Blindly the elf cast again and again, shattering the demon line, not ceasing until he felt a hand clap onto his shoulder, and he turned to look into the eyes of Sechi. The rage instantly subsided, and Tebrion took in his appearance, vividly reminded of Zion back in Telredor. As quickly as the shadows had come over him they receded, and left the priest exhausted and confused, staring at Sechi's grim face.

"Are you okay, priest?" Sechi asked, eyes roaming over their immediate surroundings.

"I...believe so," Tebrion said faintly, raising his hands before his eyes; he shuddered when he realized he had been able to see through his physical body engulfed in the shadows. "What happened to me?" He looked down at the men around him, some gazing at him fearfully, some too hurt to care; the priest carefully whispered a spell of healing, and felt a sense of relief as his holy magics still came to his call.

Sechi stared at him, then merely shrugged, then glanced back to where Savion sat, surrounded by a group of soldiers; the draenei was missing his chestplate and was sitting bare-chested, looking woozy. "I must attend to my husband, can I trust you to stay here and lead the men?"

"M-me, lead?" the priest sputtered. "I've never led anyone before."

"Very well. Join the others, I shall appoint someone to take my place while I get Savion to safety. I shall return when he is within good hands."

She gave him an unreadable glance, then pulled aside a dwarf bearing a shield as big as he was, whispering fiercely to him before returning to Savion; two of those standing protectively around him gently lifted the paladin between them and, with Sechi following closely, carefully bore him away back toward Shattrath.

"A'ight lads, les go pummel some skulls!" the dwarf Sechi had spoken to shouted. "Form up, les go!"

Tebrion fell in with the others as they roughly formed up in ranks, staring numbly at his hands. Tentatively, he sought that rage again, and felt the darkness well up within him and turn him ghostly once more. He shuddered uncontrollably at how easily it came to him, then willed it away...and vowed never to touch it again.

* * *

Saliea played target practice with Fandral several more times before the demons got wise and began to target the Archdruid with their attacks, and Sal found herself occupied with defending her foster father. The two druids worked in tandem, Saliea weakening opponents and Fandral finishing them off with well-placed bursts of nature magic, as well as splitting his attention between alternately attacking surrounding foes and defending their forces; roots regularly burst from the ground and tripped up and trapped demons at timely moments, giving the Shattrath fighters every advantage available to them.

"Look out!"

Sal turned to see a raging inferno racing for her, and no feasible way for her to dodge it. She had the brief thought to change from cat to bear, maybe absorb some of the damage before it destroyed her and thus save some of the fighters behind her, but not even she could shift forms that quickly.

The world went black and unbearably hot, and Sal waited for the end...but it never came. She opened her eyes - when had she shut them? - and found herself encased in a burning shell of roots and earth.

A gauntleted hand punched through the shell and tore open a hole, reached in and tugged her free by the scruff of her neck; Sal stared up in surprise and relief into Sevei's pale face.

"The spell?"

"The Archdruid and I stopped it. Are you unharmed?"

"Fine," she replied, her tongue darting out and flicking against his chin, drawing a smile from the worried shaman.

"Where is Mikael?" he asked, drawing his axes and turning to run at Sal's side as the druid rushed back out into the fray in search of the origin of that nasty spell.

"I don't know, I lost sight of him long ago," she said, voice trailing off into a snarl as she viciously bit into an elbow as a demon overreached and overbalanced; there was a loud crunch, a scream, and then silence as Sevei's axes took the creature's head from its shoulders - they hadn't even had time to determine what species that one had been.

"How did you find me?"

"I had some help," Sevei replied, jerking a finger over his shoulder in the direction he'd obviously come from...and there Saliea could see a towering elemental of rock, and one of flame, wrecking havoc in the midst of the demons.

She smiled despite the situation. "I see."

"I must find the warlock," Sevei went on, his words tumbling out in a rush.

Saliea returned to elf form and seized his arm, dragging them both back into the relative safety of their own forces; after a moment she whirled on him. "He ran off into the middle of the fighting, he could be anywhere by now. Where do you suggest we look?"

"We?" Sevei blinked at her. "No. Absolutely not. It shall be only me seeking him."

The glare she sent his direction actually made him move back a step.

"And, pray tell, why can only you look for him? He may need our help!"

Sevei shifted uncomfortably, staring out into the battle. "I...made a promise," he said finally, almost quietly enough that Saliea couldn't hear him. "I made a promise," he repeated. "I intend to keep it...even should it cost my life and his."

She grabbed the front of his armor and yanked him nose to nose with her. "Your life and his? What promise?"

He brushed a kiss across her lips. "I told him I wouldn't tell you, either."

"No, that will not distract me," she said, moving away when he bent in again. "What promise?"

"I cannot tell you...I'm sorry."

"You're not leaving without me," she said firmly, digging her fingers into the front of his mail.

"Saliea, please..." he said weakly, bowing his head. "Now is hardly the time to argue this."

"It's the perfect time to argue this, because there's little you can do to refuse me."

The shaman blew out a frustrated sigh and looked at her pleadingly. "Sal, please."

"No. I'm not letting you go off alone, even if it is to look for Mikael."

Before Sevei could protest further, suddenly they were all thrown from their feet, accompanied by a massive bang that made his ears ring. Instinctively he curled around Saliea - and hoped he hadn't hurt her when he had partially landed on her - and looked around wildly, seeing only a tangle of legs as demon and defender alike began to clamber unsteadily to their feet. Finally he too rolled to his feet, tugging Sal up with him, and stared open-mouthed at an expanding bubble of energy forming somewhere beyond the rear of the enemy line.

He looked to Sal, and she simply stared back.

"Mikael..."

* * *

"That is a problem," Zephyr said bluntly as he and Meraka spiraled up high enough they were actually getting wet from the clouds.

Far, far below them, a quartet of eredar channeled and held open a wide portal, a shimmering, darkened world visible on the other side and through which a steady stream of demonic entities raced.

"Do you think we could take the eredar on our own?" Meraka asked, floating alongside the draenei and squinting at the sun behind cloud cover...they would, after all, need to be sure they were not _too _high up when their spell's duration ended. Meraka had extensive knowledge of levitation spells, but had no way of being certain about Zephyr's own knowledge - he likely could slow his fall, but not stop it, and if they were caught at this height, even a slowed fall could kill the male. She didn't want that...perhaps they should refresh the spells while they had the chance...

"One of them, maybe two, but certainly not all four at the same time," Zephyr said grimly, interrupting Meraka's thoughts. "Eredar sorcerers and warlocks have always been the Legion's most feared spellcasters. The two of us, while I'm sure we're both powerful, simply would not last long under concentrated attacks from all four eredar, along with anything that happens to make it out of that portal when we make our attack."

"Then we just need to disrupt the portal then, and leave the eredar be," the orc said, frowning when Zephyr shook his head.

"They could easily recast their spell and have it up again. Our only chance of shutting it permanently is to destroy them."

She chewed on her lower lip, thinking. "We need to close this thing...perhaps...perhaps," she said slowly, rubbing at her chin. "Perhaps if we simply remove _one _of them, their spell would not work?"

Zephyr mulled that over, then slowly nodded. "There are four channeling, perhaps it requires four to function. We could easily strike quickly and get away, leaving one slain and the rest alive...it would seem to be our best bet, if there is to be only the two of us."

Meraka nodded, then pulled two feathers from her pouch, frowning when she saw she only had three total left; her first order of business would be to restock all her 'tricks' when this nightmare was finally over. She handed a feather to Zephyr, refreshed her own levitation spell, then put herself into a headlong dive, feeling more than seeing the draenei edge up just behind her, close enough to touch. Down through the air they plummeted, and when they could once again see the ground below, Meraka indicated the rough square the sorcerers made, pointing out the one in the top left corner; Zephyr nodded, eying their target.

"Allow me to start us off," he shouted, raising his hands above his head and hurling a mass of blue energy down at the unsuspecting eredar. The being was partially encased in a block of ice, and the portal faltered and began to collapse as the three unaffected eredar all turned their gazes skyward just as Meraka let loose with a spell she rarely cast due to the destruction - and kickback - it caused.

The pyroblast hit, exploded, and tossed the three free eredar every which direction while utterly obliterating the iced sorceror. Meraka flew upwards in a tumble for several yards as the kickback from the spell sent her rocketing upward, and quickly; Zephyr began to swoop back up to follow her, but one of the eredar had been quick in regaining his feet. A white band of magic soared from the demon's outstretched hands and slammed into Zephyr's legs; the draenei mage tumbled end over end uncontrollably, and to his terror, straight for the ground, his levitation spell gone.

He hit hard, rolled, and came to a stop against the stunted stump of a tree, unmoving. Meraka growled, her growl turning into a guttural snarl as she saw the eredar closing in on the downed draenei. She dove headlong at them, turning in midair to slam her heels into the back of one's neck, directed a spell of frost to the ground to root another in place, and landed and awkwardly turned to face the third. The third's hands glowed with flame, and Meraka barely managed to counter the fireball in time to send it flying harmlessly into the sky, but by then the other two were casting in her direction as well.

She ducked a bolt of ice, got her shoulder clipped by a stinging arcane bolt, then fell on her rear when an invisible barrier tripped her up. She scrabbled backwards in a crab-walk, tossing up a shimmering arcane barrier, moving until she felt the limp arm of Zephyr behind her.

"Off we go," she grunted, throwing herself over him and digging a charm from an easily-reached pocket on her robes. "There's no place like home," she muttered, holding up the tiny replica of her hut back in Orgrimmar. In a flash of smoke and light, the two mages disappeared, the stump behind them exploding in an onslaught of eredar magic.

They disappeared in a blink of the eye, and in another blink had reappeared, laying in a tangle on a hard stone floor; Meraka picked herself up off the unconscious draenei she laid on, straightening her robes as she turned and cleared her throat.

They were back in Thrall's throne room, and the Warchief was staring at them with a look on his face that, had the situation not been so dire, would have been comical.

"Warchief, I can explain..." she began, glancing back down once more at Zephyr.


	23. Chapter 23

Demons fell in multiple pieces beneath Mikael's onslaught; the warlock blinked through the rain of blood as he charged relentlessly through anything that tried blocking his way. Datavian was somewhere ahead, and he meant to find him no matter what it took.

He was careful to keep himself from using his magic, his condition foremost in his mind - collapsing from weakness and pain, being helpless before his brother, was something he intended to avoid at all costs. His sleeveless arm literally dripped in gore when he burst through a line of felguards and found him.

Datavian stood calmly, hands at his side, and gazed at Mikael as the warlock came rushing for him, Spellcleaver raised high. When Mikael was within striking distance, the other simply disappeared, leaving Spellcleaver to swish through empty air; Mikael was already turning, knowing full well that Datavian would appear behind him, or close to it. Indeed, he was directly behind Mikael, and his hands were moving in spellcasting.

A rippling bolt of black sped at Mikael, and he reacted quickly, ducking to the side and swinging with his sword; the spell hit the blade and reflected off to the side, slamming into and tearing apart an unlucky succubus. Datavian frowned, and cast again; the warlock dove to the side and came up running, not even taking note of what sort of spell roared past him, his eyes only on his brother.

Datavian's hands were raised again, but he suddenly stopped and redirected his magics off to the side.

"No! You have your orders!" he roared; Mikael spied a felhunter spinning apart in pieces just out of his line of sight - obviously not all the demons were obeying Datavian's command of leaving Mikael to him.

Mikael charged forward while Datavian was just beginning another spell; his brother's eyes widened and he ducked, and Mikael brought his knee up and smashed it into his nose. Datavian spun away, trailing a glistening line of blood, and Mikael closed the distance, reversing his grip on Spellcleaver to bring the pommel up and bash Datavian in the shoulder.

Datavian's eyes flared, and suddenly Mikael was encased in a glowing shell of burning energy, throwing him back; as Mikael rapidly cast to shatter the magic on him, Datavian dabbed at his bleeding nose with one hand and raised his free hand to point at the warlock. Right as Mikael removed the stinging arcane spell, he was blasted in the hip and spun in a circle down to one knee.

"Why are you holding back, brother?" Datavian snarled, hurling a rapid succession of arcane bolts at him. "Are you frightened? Is it truly so hard for you to comprehend what you are?"

Mikael went to dodge, realized he had a corner of his robes trapped under one of his own feet and found himself dumped awkwardly sideways, then was peppered by the bolts; they burned holes through his robes and left shiny round marks on his skin.

"I understand more than you know," Mikael growled, rolling to his feet and bringing Spellcleaver to bear as Datavian sent more bolts at him. He slashed left, then right, and smiled grimly as he sliced the bolts apart, sword glinting and Datavian's eyes widening in surprise. "I will see you stand for your crimes, one way or another."

"Then come claim me!" the other roared, sending a roiling ball of fire rushing Mikael's way.

Mikael swung and deflected it, then was hammered backwards several paces as Datavian threw spell after spell in rapid succession; finally when he managed to get his feet set under him, and the arcane energies raced beyond him, Mikael rubbed aching, stinging arms and began to duck and weave. The earth around Mikael exploded as Datavian struggled to hit the nimble warlock - Mikael was pelted with super-hot rock and blinding grit - and was forced to teleport himself away when Spellcleaver dove in passed his defenses and gouged a deep cut across his thigh.

Datavian's dark robes grew darker as the wound bled, and he fixed Mikael with a smug grin.

"First blood is mine, brother," Mikael said, panting slightly.

"Yes, first blood is yours," Datavian said lightly. "However..." he mused, reaching fingers down to the cut and digging them into the blood. "I believe you have erred, Mikael." Datavian brought his fingers to his face, drawing a rough glyph vaguely resembling a summoning sigil, on cheeks and forehead. "My magic comes not from this world, but _beyond. _And blood calls to it, so readily._" _

The next spell hit Mikael so fast he never even knew Datavian had cast, and it hit hard too; Mikael was lifted from his feet, Spellcleaver held diagonally across his chest, and slammed backwards into the ground where he lay a moment, stunned. His limbs refused to obey his commands, and Mikael swore loudly when a shadow fell over him and he looked up to see his brother standing over him.

"This is a familiar sight, is it not, Mikael?" Datavian chuckled, extending his blood-smeared hand toward the prone warlock.

"Yes," Mikael grunted, shoving a hand, palm flat, up toward the spellcaster.

Datavian obviously hadn't expected a spell, for he took the full force of the spell on his hand; Mikael flipped up to his feet and rushed for him. Datavian was rapidly retreating, cradling his injured hand silently against his chest.

"No," he said simply, gesturing; Mikael's feet suddenly stuck to the ground, pitching him forward to land heavily on his chest, all the air going out of him in a loud whoosh.

Datavian held out his hand, the entire limb shaking; the hand was ruined, blackened and twisted with the pinky and ring fingers missing. "Hardly a setback, the flesh is easily repaired," Datavian snapped, flexing the remaining fingers and sending tendrils of electric purple arching for Mikael.

Mikael rolled to his side and slashed out at them, severing two, then screamed in agony when the remaining three wrapped down his sword arm and dug into the bare flesh. He almost stumbled over the words for a counter-spell in his pain, and when the tendrils disappeared he had angry red furrows seared into his skin.

With a start, he looked up to find Datavian had disappeared from sight; he also noted that the demons had formed a sort of ring around them - not attacking, but keeping Mikael pinned in and everyone else out. As he gazed around wildly, seeking Datavian, Mikael tried calming his breathing; Datavian and he were evenly matched, if he relied on magic and Mikael relied on physical prowess...

But what if Mikael ceased relying on his physical fighting skill?

Instinctively Mikael hopped to his feet and darted to the side, a fireball crashing to the earth where he had laid moments earlier; Mikael turned and roared out an incantation, sending a shadowy ball of energy racing to where Datavian had appeared behind him. It clipped the man's shoulder and shoved him back, and Mikael followed up with another spell, a curse.

Sinister runes began to spread across Datavian's neck and face, and his eyes widened as he rapidly began a counter-spell; Mikael took advantage of his distraction to pummel him with several more shadow bolts, followed up with a spell that ignited the hem of Datavian's robes.

"Enough!" Datavian roared, a shield of shimmering arcane power rippling around him bare moments before racing outward and slamming into Mikael; Mikael found himself once again flat on his back on the ground, as Datavian rapidly put out the fire on his robes and the curse that was eating raw sores into his flesh.

Mikael rolled to his knees and threw his hands above his head, ribbons of bright flame flowing from his fingertips and slashing apart the glittering orbs Datavian threw at him; the spell rained down in shattered fragments around him as he stood and hurled another shadow bolt at his brother.

Datavian ducked and slammed a palm into the ground, sending a shimmering, cylindrical wall of force out from him, but Mikael was ready this time and simply slashed a hole through the wall and charged. He was close enough to see Datavian's eyes widen in surprise as he closed the distance and slammed a fist into the man's jaw. As his brother staggered back, Mikael sent a flaming palm into the other man's knee and watched as he dropped.

"It's over," he growled, raising Spellcleaver high.

"Not quite!" Datavian gasped, pointing up with his injured hand at Mikael. Instead of an aggressive spell that Mikael could easily deflect, a faint white mist flew from the man's hand and hit the warlock full in the face.

Mikael fell back, coughing and staggering. His eyes burned, and his limbs felt heavy; a general feeling of lethargy came over him and he struggled to remain on his feet. Spellcleaver dropped from nerveless fingers as he fought to keep his eyes open.

"And now," Datavian said softly, sitting up and rubbing his jaw as Mikael wobbled and dropped to a knee. "Now it is over. You have progressed much further than I had thought, but simple pushing will no longer suffice. You have been tempered on the outside, now to temper you on the inside."

"No..." Mikael moaned, struggling to push himself to his feet and only succeeding in slipping further to his side, slumping down to all fours. "No..."

Datavian crawled over to him as Mikael's eyes slipped shut and he toppled to the ground on his side; Datavian smiled as he gently ran fingers through the hair now covering Mikael's face.

"Sleep well, little Mikael. It is high time you accepted your destiny," he said, going into a spellcasting over the prone warlock.

* * *

Kultan gestured for his two other eredar companions to step back up and form a triangle with him. They had altered the spell matrix to make up for the slaying of Loteu, and now - with some extra effort - they could reform the summoning portal and continue to allow further forces of Drasai enter this realm.

They focused their energy, first rebuilding the sphere of power needed as the base for the portal, then began to overlay the-

Their attention was abruptly interrupted when, with a brief flash of light and a wisp of smoke, the orc that had assaulted them - her draenei ally nowhere to be seen - appeared right in the center of their cast.

"You!" Kultan snarled. "Destroy her! The portal must remain open!"

Meraka smiled and leapt into the air, levitating several feet above the ground as the eredar brought their spells to bear. There was a great burst of light as the spells bounced off an invisible barrier around the orc mage, and when they paused to change their form of attack Meraka reached between her breasts and pulled out a glass orb, which she held high.

Kultan saw this and laughed, the others laughing with him. "A bauble? What do you intend to use that for?"

"For the Horde," she said with another smile. The orb slipped from her hand and smashed into the earth...and from the shards sprang a portal, and from the portal rushed a squad of mounted warriors that tore through the surprised eredar.

Meraka watched the quick battle - not much of a battle so much as a massacre - unfold beneath her feet, then gently floated to land on the ground as the mixed group of Horde fighters milled around and formed up in ranks. Ortok, appointed leader of the battle group, brought his wolf up alongside the mage and offered her a hand; she frowned at it but accepted it nonetheless, letting Ortok tug her up to a seated position behind him. Another wolf-riding orc pulled up beside them, Zephyr - sporting a bandage wrapped around his forehead, a nasty-looking bruise just visible around the edges - riding behind him.

"Where?"

Meraka pointed, and with a roar to the heavens they rushed toward the main bulk of the demons.

"_For the Horde!"_

* * *

Ishanah listened to the ongoing reports of troop movements, enemy and ally casualties, enemy movements, enemy troop makeup. She could hear A'dal and the other naaru whispering to one another as they destroyed any demon that strayed too close to the center of Shattrath from the air. A fine rain of black ash was falling on Lower City, coating aggressor and defender alike, forming a paste where it met with spilled blood that clung thickly to anything it touched.

She looked up at A'dal, licking her lips.

"Am I correct in doing this?"

_You have seen the possible outcomes. It is ultimately your choice, not mine._

Ishanah sighed heavily. "I do not like sending others to their deaths."

_They die for those they love, for if the warlock is taken far more will die than just those here._

"If Mikael needs to be protected, then why are we allowing him to face his brother on his own? He would be easy prey for Drasai if he is injured or distracted."

She felt A'dal sending a calming influence her way. _As it is your choice to remain here, so is it his choice to avenge his family. Trust in him._

Ishanah got the distinct feeling there was more the naaru wished to say, but A'dal remained silent. A tickling feeling of unease prickled her senses, but the draenei sighed and shut her eyes tightly. She had dreamed of the possible outcomes, what would happen if she stepped in and gave the warlock assistance...the positive outcomes were greatly outnumbered by the negatives, and all had death and sorrow in them.

Ishanah wished to lend her aid however she could, and sadly the only way she could help anyone was to remain out of the picture until the problem with Datavian and Mikael was solved, and one way or another...Mikael would be coming for her.

"I will trust in you, and in him."

* * *

The power built, the orange stream of energy winding from Datavian's fingers to fall on Mikael's face and force its way into the warlock's mouth and nose.

"At last you will see, you will see what- yeeeargh-!" Datavian trailed off into a strangled gargle as something sinewy and solid wrapped around his neck and pulled him halfway to his feet, leaving him to hang awkwardly and strangle.

"Don't touch what isn't yours!" Elervina, Mikael's enslaved succubus, snarled as she came into view. She fought against Datavian's struggling, rising up on her hooves to lift Datavian higher, pinning his robe hem under one hoof to prevent him from standing. "Master!" She began to roll her wrists, further tightening the whip wrapped around the man's neck. "Master, awaken!"

The spell Datavian was casting dissipated, all traces of it disappearing from Mikael's face, but still the warlock slept on. Elervina began chanting, eyes glowing an angry blue as she glared at the back of Datavian's head. "Hold still, stupid mortal plaything."

Datavian twisted an arm around, making a slashing motion with a finger. Immediately gashes opened up Elervina's arms and across her midsection; Datavian gasped and rolled away as the spell did what it had been intended to do: it severed the whip and set him free. He backpedaled on his hands and rear as now the succubus came after him with hands curled into claws, sharp nails ripping flesh and cloth where they actually caught the human.

"I will not be deterred!" he roared hoarsely, firing several small firebolts at her. She shrugged them off and stepped up to straddle Mikael, kneeling, her wings flicking about her in agitation.

"Master, wake up!" she pleaded, seizing Mikael's shoulders and shaking him to no effect. "Master, please!"

A fireball roared over her head, just singeing the tip of one of her curving horns; with a growl, she seized her whip and ran fingers down its cut length, the severed ends glowing briefly and melding together into a solid weapon once more. She slapped it against her thigh as she stood and strode determinedly at Datavian, glancing back one final time at Mikael laying on the ground motionless.

Datavian was climbing unsteadily to his feet, finally showing some sign of weakness. He grasped at the cut in his thigh, still oozing blood, and snarled as Elervina stalked toward him, her whip whirling around her head.

"You seek your own doom," he growled, hands beginning to glow orange.

Elervina merely narrowed her eyes. "He is mine," she said quietly, cracking her whip at the ground before Datavian's feet - and causing him to draw back reflexively.

As he opened his mouth to cast a spell, he suddenly found his head snapping back, saw his own blood spray into the air and felt a tooth or two come loose in his mouth; he hit the ground hard, looking up to see that escaped blood elf standing over him.

"_Never, never harm a lady in my presence, you slimy little bastard," _the blood elf said coolly, calmly wiping a streak of the man's blood off his boot.

"You!" Datavian roared, pointing. "I will have you again!"

"I think not," came another voice, right as a noose-like object dropped around Datavian's neck and pulled taut. "Ah ah, don't move, I'm not squeamish when it comes to killing - and that is partly your fault, you realize."

"Donnovan," Datavian gasped, actually looking surprised. "You fool, I will kill you for this- gekkkt," he choked as Donnovan pulled the 'noose' - actually the whip he'd taken off that succubus earlier - tighter.

"How dare you disobey your master?" he snarled through the suffocation.

"Yeah, funny thing, that. You see, I noticed something finally," Donnovan said lightly. "Every time I was ever given an order, you had that damn staff of yours either on hand or nearby...not so, when you ordered me to hunt that druid down. I'm not enslaved to you, I'm enslaved to that weapon, and you...you have no power over me anymore."

Datavian let out a cry then that sliced through their heads, causing Malchoir to drop to his knees and clutch at his head in agony; Donnovan squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to keep his grip on the whip but Datavian wriggled free and spun away, to his feet.

"Troublesome little pests!" he screamed, raising his hands to the sky. "You play with power beyond your imagining!_" _With a frenzied laugh, Datavian bit deep into the pointer finger of his whole hand and, shaking, finished the sigil he had drawn on his face earlier. Instantly, a corona of power erupted into being, formed a shimmering bubble around the man, then raced outward to encompass Donnovan, Malchoir, Elervina, and Mikael.

"Enter this world Drasai! Your time has come!"

Datavian became engulfed in shadow, rising into the air and floating to the center of the bubble - which had ceased expanding and now formed a dome over them. From the shadows came a low laugh, a voice Donnovan recognized as it sent a feeling of sheer terror through him.

"_I come."_

* * *

Sevei found the leading edge of the dome by slamming into it, the magic being nearly invisible against all of the chaos. Saliea grabbed his arm and tugged him back upright as the dazed shaman regained his balance.

"Wall," he said somewhat sheepishly, reaching out and setting his hands against it.

"How do we - oh gods!" Saliea breathed, pressing herself against the barrier too. "Mikael!"

Sevei peered through and saw the warlock, laying motionless on his side on the far side of the dome. "I pray he is dead."

"What? Why?" Sal asked sharply, whirling on him.

"Because of that," Sevei answered quietly, eyes widening as he pointed up to the higher reaches of the dome.

Sal followed his gaze and saw the twisting shadows, and they both jumped when they heard the voice.

"_I come."_

"Drasai..." Sevei whispered.

The druid looked around desperately; both demon and defenders alike were avoiding this area luckily, so their energy could be focused on how to reach the other side of this magical barrier without having to worry about being attacked while doing it. She looked back to see Sevei trying several different ways to dispel it to no effect, and after a moment he dropped to his knees and dug his fingers into the earth.

"...It's not a dome, it's a full circle," he said finally, face wearing a grim expression. "We cannot go over or under it."

"Then we have to go through it," she said quickly. "But how?"

Sevei shrugged, turning again to the nigh-invisible barrier. "I...I don't know." 'I must get in there!' he added silently, once more eying Mikael through the spell separating them. If Drasai came through and found Mikael helpless...

'_I pray he is dead,' _ his words echoed through his mind. Yes...yes he definitely prayed that Mikael had been slain, for the alternative was much, much worse, for everyone. Futilely he beat his hands against the barrier, growling, then began to retry the counter-spells he knew; perhaps he hadn't been putting everything he had to it, so maybe this time -

He was interrupted when Sal grabbed his arm, something glinting in his hand.

"Hold still, hang on to me," she ordered. He obediently seized the hand holding him, and looked on curiously as Sal focused on what looked like a mirror in her hand, and then a moment later the world went blank. When everything came back into focus, they were within the dome and Saliea was racing for Mikael's side.

"Stop her," someone gasped from his left. The shaman turned to see an older night elf picking himself up off the ground, coiling a whip with one hand.

"Stop her," he said again. "Get her away from that human!"

"Sal, come back!" Sevei yelled, not currently concerned with the 'why' behind the stranger's request.

She was halfway to Mikael when, above them all, the shadows lashed out. The druid was engulfed and she shrieked - a shriek of terror, not of pain, though that didn't quiet any worries the shaman had as he sprinted to her assistance and blindly dove into the darkness surrounding her.

It felt like he had jumped into a heavy syrup while being struck blind, all while horrific voices screamed and cried in his mind; trying to swallow the fear rising in him, Sevei groped around until he felt his hand close on what he hoped was a wrist, then he threw himself forward. They both tumbled to the ground, the druid laying stunned on the ground beside him, staring blankly up into the sky. Sevei grabbed her shoulders and roughly shook her and her eyes met his, recognition in them.

"Mikael is-"

"Right there," she answered, rolling on the ground and dragging her with him, just to get them away from the shadows. Their roll took them closer to the prone warlock, and Saliea crawled over Sevei to get to him.

Without warning there was a sudden pressure in the air; Sevei acted without thinking and threw himself over Saliea and Mikael both, actually achieving his purpose of shielding her from harm as from within the shadows came several biting little bolts of energy - most just hit his armor and deflected, but the few that would have hit Sal instead dug into the draenei, leaving angry welts in their wake.

"You are out of time, meddling insects."

The voice was deep and sent involuntary shivers down Sevei's back; he glanced over his shoulder to see the shadows swirling violently, forming into something solid. He turned desperately back to Mikael and Saliea, who was trying unsuccessfully to wake the human.

"What is wrong with him?" she groaned, looking from Mikael's face up to the twisting shadows.

Sevei placed a hand on Mikael's heart and one on his forehead. "I don't know..." he muttered, thinking - he had but two things to try, and if that didn't work...

Summoning what dregs of magic he had left in him, the shaman sent the most powerful dispelling magics he possessed into the warlock. To his and Saliea's great relief, Mikael jerked like he'd been shocked and his eyes flew open - then they both started when the human let out a gasp of pain and clapped hands over his eyes.

* * *

He became fully aware the moment the sleeping spell upon him was shattered, and with a jerk he opened his eyes, terrified at what he might find, but then searing pain ripped through his head.

"Aggghhhh!"

Mikael immediately clapped hands over his eyes as they watered and stung, but that wasn't the problem...the problem was light sensitivity.

"Mikael? Are you all right?"

Mikael could hear Sal - _why was she here?! - _but when he cautiously moved his hands and opened his eyes a crack, they were immediately assaulted by unnatural sensitivity and he was forced to close them as his head throbbed and threatened to make him sick.

"Oh gods no..." he breathed, flattening his palms over his eyes.

"What? What is wrong?"

Sevei was here too, apparently - a very small part of him wasn't surprised, and was actually a tad resentful and jealous - but Mikael merely shook his head, a sense of dread panic rising in his gut.

"My eyes!"

"What's wrong?"

"I can't see!"

"A shame." Mikael jumped at the voice, almost reacting stupidly by uncovering his eyes to seek its source, but he knew who it was. It could only be one person. Drasai was here, and was here for _him._

He felt hands on him then, shoving him back, and heard the shuffle of feet around him; Saliea and Sevei were taking up defensive positions around him, they had to be.

'No! Please...don't put yourselves in danger for me. Don't die...for my sake,' his mind wailed in the darkness that had become his world. 'What do I do? _What do I do?' _

"Master!"

"E-Elervina?" he asked, blindly turning the direction the succubus's voice had come from. "Why are you here?"

"No one touches my master," he heard her say firmly, and then he felt a leather-clad hand gently stroke through his hair.

"A touching sight," boomed the deep voice. "But it won't save you."

"You can't have him," Mikael heard Saliea growl beside him. "You won't lay a finger on him, Drasai."

The warlock felt a breeze, incredibly cold and tainted with demonic presence, brush his face accompanied by a sinister chuckle.

"Ah, it is the pretty little plaything, the petite druid," the voice went on. Mikael felt Saliea press into him and then, with an angry snarl, she was ripped away even as Sevei dove for her bumping into Mikael and nearly knocking Mikael over in the process.

"No!" Sevei shouted, and Mikael felt the shaman scramble away.

'What is happening?' Mikael wondered desperately. 'Eyes, I need my eyes, I _need to see!' _Blindly he groped about and felt his fingers close around the comforting solid grip of Spellcleaver and he tugged the weapon to him; hefting it, he began wracking his brain for a plan. 'Drasai is here and I'm an easy target while blinded...oh _damn _you Datavian to every hell there ever was! What do I do? What can I...wait...'

Hands shaking, Mikael reached into his pocket, and carefully pulled out the scraps of fabric left over from where he'd trimmed up his robes earlier. He knew better than to think he'd be able to keep his eyes shut, and he didn't want to be suddenly crippled by pain should he slip up and open then, so...gingerly, he took the scraps, fingered them until he found a long one, and tied it like a blindfold over his eyes. That would prevent the pain, and now for the seeing part...

Mikael extended his hand, chanting a spell that he hadn't believed he would ever need to use; green light flared to existence in his palm, revolving in a lazy circle until it formed a solid sphere with a slit of a pupil through its center - in essence, an eye. Mikael let the eye float up and hover above his shoulder, and slowly stood as the world faded back into view; a green haze filled his vision then sharpened to crystal clarity, though the green tint to everything still remained. Mikael didn't care though, as he _could see!_

He raised his gaze, the Eye of Kilrogg reacting to the natural movement of the human's eyes beneath the blindfold, focusing on...Drasai.

The eredar was huge, towering over everyone - and Mikael could see they were all trapped within a glimmering dome of some sort. Drasai himself floated near the top of the dome, glaring down at them with orange-glowing eyes; he had ebon-black skin with silver whorls curling across his chest and down his arms, giving him a marbled appearance. He levitated in the air, directly beneath him being a mass of shadows that, Mikael could see, held Saliea captive suspended several feet above the ground. Sevei was standing a yard away, slashing at tendrils of shadow that sought to root him to the ground; Mikael hefted Spellcleaver and stepped forward, severing multiple tendrils that, unlike those cut by Sevei's axes, disappeared from view. Within moments he had freed the shaman and turned his blade toward those suspending Saliea. Before he could cut any of them though, a figure leapt from the shadows at him.

"It is high time you severed this bonds, Mikael. You need no further distractions from your path," Datavian panted hoarsely, his eyes crazed as they fell upon Mikael. His hand was whole once more, and the gash in his leg was gone. He smirked when he saw Mikael eying where the injuries had been previously. "Careful Mikael, don't remove your gaze from the goal."

Mikael growled and gestured. "Don't worry, brother. I only have eye for you." At his command, the Eye of Kilrogg shot forward and slammed into Datavian's forehead, doing no real damage but certainly distracting the man long enough for Mikael to dart forward and slam his fist holding Spellcleaver into Datavian's jaw.

"You would do well with several more eyes, then," came that voice from above, the only warning Mikael got before Drasai struck.

A crackling ball of black energy slammed into the ground where Mikael had been a moment ago, gouging a crater and only just licking Mikael's left boot. Instantly, the foot within went numb and Mikael swore, the Eye of Kilrogg circling back to settle upon his shoulder.

He was hit from behind as another ball of energy shot for him; Mikael looked up to see a hagard-looking older night elf standing over him. Without a word, the night elf ripped Spellcleaver from Mikael's hands and spun, doing a full-extension sweep that sliced through shadows and allowed Saliea to drop to the ground and roll away. Seconds later he let the sword hit the dirt even as he seized handfuls of Mikael's robes and hauled him to his feet.

"Take this and run," he hissed, shoving a small mirror into the startled warlock's hands.

"What?"

"Focus on it, you'll go wherever you want, but just _go!" _the night elf growled. "If Drasai gets his hands on you it's all over for the rest of us. I won't stand idly by and watch you slay my daughter at the whim of that damn monster."

Mikael blinked at him. "Daughter? Who...Sal?" he asked incredulously.

The elf nodded shortly, then closed Mikael's hand over the mirror. "Yes, now GO. You are the key to everything."

The night elf spun around, looping a toe under Spellcleaver and expertly flipping it back up into his hands. "I'm borrowing this," he said shortly, then dashed off leaving Mikael standing there in stunned silence. The elf ducked a fireball - which exploded dangerously close to the warlock – and ducked a decapitating blast of black energy, deflected another energy ball with the blade, and then sprang at Drasai.

The eredar batted him away like he was a doll, Spellcleaver flying from the rogue's hands to land at Mikael's feet, then those orange eyes settled on Mikael.

"Surrender. Serve."

"I think not," Mikael snapped, throwing up a shield of flame even as the eredar cast at him. His shield held only a few seconds, wavered, then shattered, but Mikael was already gone. Drasai snarled and sought him, only to see the warlock appear from thin air right behind Datavian; Spellcleaver erupted through the man's chest, and Datavian let out a horrific wail.

"I'm sorry...but sometimes, when someone is in so much pain, the kindest thing you can do is end it for them," Mikael whispered into his ear. Datavian looked at the blade sticking from his chest like a macabre banner, then turned his eyes to Mikael, who was leaning over his shoulder.

"I wish it could have ended differently, brother," Mikael said quietly, lifting his sword arm and letting him slide off and hit the ground. Datavian's mouth worked open and shut, but no sound came out; his expression froze, eyes fixated on Mikael. Impassively, Mikael stepped over the body, letting the mirror drop from his hand as he raised his head to direct the Eye of Kilrogg to look up at Drasai. The eredar had a look of absolute fury on his face as he looked from brother to brother.

"And now to deal with you," Mikael said evenly, swallowing hard.

* * *

Savion was being restrained where he lay in one of the little alcoves in the center building of Shattrath.

"Let me up!" he roared, shoving hands from him.

"You are in no shape to return to the fighting!" Sechi snapped at him, grabbing both his shoulders and slamming him back onto the hastily-created pallet the paladin lay on.

"That's not the problem!" he protested, staring up at his wife. "Have you not seen it?"

"Seen what?"

"Their attack patterns! Over half of Shattrath is level with or set below ground level, yet the demons attack from the air and take the time to fight only at easily defended entrances!" Savion insisted, sitting up with a groan.

Sechi thought a moment, then her face paled. "This is a screen for something worse."

Savion nodded, then rolled to his side and shoved himself to his feet, swaying unsteadily. "Bring me armor. Alaos, to me!" In a flash of golden light, the elekk bound to the draenei appeared and Savion staggered to him. Sechi wisely did not argue, knowing that nothing she said would deter her husband.

* * *

Kakum reached for an arrow only to find his quiver empty. Growling, he tossed the quiver aside and unstrung his bow, whirling it about his head as a makeshift quarterstaff. He almost fell over, off-balanced, as the tip of the bow caught the temple of an attacking succubus; the troll kept his feet, but the succubus fell over with an Alliance fighter leaping atop her to finish the kill.

Kakum gestured to their left. "Close dat hole!" he ordered, seeing that side of the line beginning to buckle inward under the demonic onslaught. Horde and Alliance alike leapt to obey him; Kakum wasn't certain who was supposed to be in charge of their little group, but someone needed to do it and Kakum appeared to be the only bilingual one here, so the job seemed to have fallen to him.

"_Press da center, don't let da the winged thingars tru!" _Kakum now shouted in Orcish. He tossed the bow to his left hand and swung out, smacking an imp right between its stunted little horns, sending the creature stumbling away cross-eyed; smoothly the troll drew his hatchet again and, instead of taking another swing at the imp he simply threw the axe. It flew end over end and slammed into the throat of a...

"_What da hell is dat?!" _Kakum sputtered, eying the towering, six-armed beings charging at them. They were obviously female, dressed rather skimpy for a war group, and didn't seem fazed at all as they climbed over the one Kakum had just felled with a lucky throw. They came within range, and -

Kakum clapped hands over his ears as they in unison shrieked, feeling like his head was going to burst. His bow clattered to the ground, and through watering eyes he saw all the troops around him in similar straits, but to his horror he saw the six-armed nightmares advancing...but instead of striking to kill they wielded what looked like coiled whips of pure shadow. Where the whips struck, a blanket of shadow trailed them and covered their victim, tucking around them and immobilizing them. Several defenders were already captured, cocooned helplessly as the demons marched over them. As Kakum watched, from behind the six-armed beasts came a few eredar, who each bent to captured defenders and touched them; an unnatural light surrounded them, and moments later the captured rose into the air out of sight.

"Get back! Don't engage da six-armed bitches!" Kakum called desperately. "Ranged fightars fill 'em full o' pain! Melee pull back, pull back!" He repeated himself in Orcish even as he groped around for his bow, wishing now that he hadn't thrown his hatchet.

* * *

Drasai was floating gently down toward the ground, eyes burning into Mikael's. Mikael calmly stood there, carefully lifting the edge of his blindfold; when the light he could see didn't send searing pain through his head, he gently pulled the blindfold free and blinked blearily. Whatever had been afflicting him had worn off and he could see once more under his own power; he dismissed the Eye of Kilrogg and took several steps back as Drasai dropped lightly to the ground. The earth beneath his feet sizzled and withered; Mikael was suddenly hit with a staggering feeling, a desperate need to drop to his knees and worship Drasai's unnatural perfection and beauty, his overwhelming power. The urge to throw himself into the eredar's arms weeping was nearly overpowering, but, biting his lip hard enough that he tasted blood, Mikael threw up a mental shield around himself and the feelings vanished.

Drasai extended a hand to him. "_Come to me, warlock." _The voice dripped with magic.

Again Mikael felt the eredar attacking his mind directly, but the warlock - now prepared against such an attack - shrugged the intrusions off without too much difficulty.

"No," Mikael said firmly once he was certain he had defeated Drasai's spell. "You will find me harder to manipulate than my brother."

"You believe so?" Drasai laughed, throwing back his head. "Little fool. Poor little mortal, so certain of himself. You certainty will be your downfall, for I know you better than you know yourself."

"Please," Mikael said before he could stop himself. "You insult me."

Drasai tilted his head. "Insult you? No, little mortal. I know you...I know your inner struggles, your desires. I know your destiny...you fight so hard against it. Would it not be easier to simply accept it? You will save lives if you give up this foolish battle."

Mikael abruptly diverted his gaze when he felt the stirrings of a spell in his mind, trying to ensnare him by drawing his gaze deeper into the eredar's eyes.

'Obey,' the magic whispered. 'End your suffering, obey his words, know love and power like you've never felt. Save the lives of those you care for...you need only give in.'

'I know now how my brother was so suckered,' Mikael thought sadly, fighting the urge to look back at where he knew Datavian's lifeless body lay. Killing him was no doubt a mercy for the man...or so Mikael wanted to believe, and believe badly.

Drasai crossed his arms, a smile still on his face. "I am to assume you intend to fight me, then?"

"I won't simply lay down and die," he answered with a snort.

"Killing you was not my intention."

"But killing Ishanah is, and I won't let that happen."

Drasai chuckled. "My intention goes far beyond that...her death, and the death I cause here, are mere rewards for my service."

Mikael raised Spellcleaver, the blade darker than ever thanks to Datavian's blood coating it, and pointed it at the eredar. "I will send you back to whatever dark hole you crawled out of."

He almost didn't dodge in time, and spilled sideways when his numbed foot gave out from under him; another crackling ball of black energy, the same that had numbed his foot in the first place, slammed into the ground where Mikael had been. Suddenly the warlock found himself in a frenzy of dodging, not daring to try and block the spells with Spellcleaver for fear of losing use of his hands; finally, skidding on his heels to a stop near the wall of the dome they were trapped in, Mikael turned and faced Drasai. The eredar wore an amused look on his face.

"Run little rodent, run."

"Run from this," Mikael snapped, going into a spellcasting.

Drasai sneered and went to cast back, but a brilliant bolt of green slammed into him, interrupting his spell even as great roots ripped free from the ground and wrapped around his limbs. Mikael smiled around his spell as he completed the words, a ball of flame erupting from his hands and slamming into Drasai's chest, doubling the eredar over and setting the roots wrapped around him on fire.

From the corner of one eye he spotted Sevei and that nameless blood elf rush forward, blades glinting in their hands. Drasai roared and swung his arms, easily snapping the the flaming roots apart and turning to meet their charge; the blood elf took a devastating blow to the shoulder that spun him in a circle and dropped him to the ground facing the opposite direction, but Sevei ducked under and within the eredar's reach and brought both axes slicing in across the burnt skin on his chest.

Drasai snarled in pain and raised a hoof, slamming it into the ground. A crevasse opened under Sevei's feet even as the shaman fought to regain his balance as the earth shook. He was forced to jump aside before he toppled into the opening; Drasai turned to track him, but a furry purple-hued ball slammed into him. Saliea was all claws and teeth, ripping and tearing mercilessly where she clung to his side. He roared and seized her, one hand reaching for her throat but finding snapping teeth expertly guarding such a vulnerability. With a snarl he threw her aside, the druid flying through the air to bounce with a thud off the barrier surrounding them. Drasai ran hands over his chest, murmuring; the silver patterning on his skin flared once where his fingers touched them, rippling out in waves to encompass the eredar's body.

Sevei took advantage of the brief distraction; a sickening crunch sounded as Sevei's axes smashed into the eredar's hastily raised blocking arm. The shaman's eyes widened in surprise when the wound acted more like a shattering stone than flesh and blood - flecks of black skin exploded into the draenei's face, like rock chips, creating a crater instead of a gash.

"A valiant effort, but of no use I'm afraid," Drasai chuckled, gesturing. "Allow me to show you."

Sevei found himself frozen in mid-swing, then toppled over stiffly to the ground. The eredar leaned over and wrenched the weapons from Sevei's grasp; they looked like toys in his hands, and he easily crushed them both between his palms, whispering a spell that then turned both into molten slag. Drasai let it drip from his fingers onto the helpless shaman, Sevei unable to do anything as drops of liquid metal spattered onto his chest and arms, a few even striking his chin.

Sevei was spared further torment as, with a combined effort, Donnovan and Malchoir - foolishly - tackled the eredar, the blood elf slamming both booted feet into the knees and Donnovan aiming high, shoulder-checking the demon in the chest. Caught off-balance, Drasai teetered and fell heavily to the side; Donnovan was up, his daggers digging for the eyes, and screamed when Drasai swung a closed fist and struck his elbow. The night elf's dagger in that hand went flying as the elbow bent wrong, then broke with a wet snap. Malchoir had the sense to yank the rogue flat as another blow followed the first; Drasai's fist flew harmlessly over Donnovan's head as the night elf instinctively curled around his injury, gritting his teeth against the pain.

Malchoir jammed a dagger straight down, aiming to hamstring the demon, but yelled in frustration and surprise when the blade simply snapped off, only leaving a thin scratch behind.

"Those blades won't harm him!"

The blood elf ducked as he spied Mikael rushing in in his periphery vision; he seized Donnovan's collar and rolled as the warlock swung Spellcleaver in a reverse-grip downward. Both rogues were clear of danger when the blow struck - Mikael's sword flared and sliced through Drasai's unnatural stone skin without any resistance, gouging a deep tear through the back of the eredar's thigh.

Drasai tossed back his head and laughed, swinging his uninjured leg around and sweeping Mikael's feet out from under him.

"I must admit you put up more of a fight than imagined"

"Damn right I do," Mikael grunted, already returning to his feet as Drasai rolled to his. Eredar and human eyed one another, but while Mikael panted and sweated, Drasai didn't even show a hint of being bothered by his wounds. "You should be limping from that," he said, eyes narrowing.

Drasai shrugged. "I would be, had you struck me."

"I hit you. I felt it."

"Did you?" the eredar chuckled, eyes flaring orange briefly. "I deal in illusions, dear human. Did you strike me, or do you merely believe you did because I willed it so?"

Mikael tapped two fingers against his temple. "I know I hit you, I felt no mental intrusions. It was no illusion."

Drasai swept his hand out to the side, gesturing at Sevei - still stiff and unmoving - Donnovan with his broken arm, Malchoir, and Saliea. "Are you willing to stake their lives on it?"

The warlock ground his teeth together a moment, then growled audibly. "They never should have come." His sword arm was beginning to feel absurdly heavy, but Mikael hefted Spellcleaver and leveled the tip at Drasai once more. "I will see you dead long before I allow you to touch them again."

"We shall see, warlock," Drasai chuckled, "_we shall see."_

Mikael took a step forward, then hesitated a split instant as he noted something peculiar - Sal, Sevei, the others...they weren't off to the side anymore. That expanse of ground was empty!

'Oh gods...was that reality or illusion-' he thought, then his thoughts derailed as he heard an agonizing scream from behind him. Sal's scream.

"No! Sal!" he shouted, spinning to look over his shoulder, then realizing his mistake.

As he turned, the others faded back into view - right where Drasai had pointed them out before! There wasn't _anything _behind Mikael! It had been a trick!

All this he realized as he felt a hand wrap around his neck from behind, and an arm like steel wrap around his waist.

"You could have chosen the easier path," Drasai whispered into Mikael's ear. Mikael struggled, but couldn't move with the hand on his throat and the arm around his waist pinning him to the eredar.

A paralyzing chill began to inch its way across Mikael's body, starting at his neck and working its way down; Spellcleaver fell from nerveless fingers as Mikael finally went totally limp. Drasai cradled him, laughing softly in his ear.

Darkness was creeping into the warlock's vision. He felt assault after mental assault, wearing down the protective shields of his mind; a gentle fuzziness soon began to coat his thoughts, gaps appeared in his defense, and Drasai almost tenderly entered Mikael's mind with his own.

Mikael struggled with him, trying to force his presence back out, but the same chill that paralyzed his body was now streaking across his mind; his attempts to fight the possession became weaker and more feeble as the chill spread.

"It is over, warlock. Give in."

He let out an almost contented sigh as his last defense fell; Mikael ceased, and Drasai began.

* * *

Saliea hit with such force that she blacked out a moment or two; when she finally came to her senses enough to stagger to her feet, she spied Sevei, laying stiffly on the ground. Donnovan, her father, was favoring an arm that hung at an incorrect angle, with Malchoir doing his best to help the night elf stumble to the relative safety that distance from the eredar would offer. Mikael was on his feet, breathing hard but otherwise all right; the druid saw him look her direction, then turn his attention back to Drasai.

Her ears perked up when she heard a scream - a scream that sounded a lot like her own! Wildly she looked around, wondering what new trick Drasai had just revealed, then looked up in confusion when she heard Mikael's shout of denial. Why was he worried? He had just seen her...

"NO!" the scream ripped from her throat, loud and hoarse enough that she tasted blood afterward, but she didn't care. She struggled to move, but dizziness from the impact a moment earlier turned her movements sluggish and uncoordinated, so she could only watch as Drasai appeared behind Mikael and seized him.

Shadows peeled off the eredar like skin off an onion, wrapping around both human and demon; Mikael struggled a brief instant, then went limp, his eyes glazing over, as shadows cocooned them and hid them from view.

"Mikael! Mikael!"

* * *

_He...has fallen._

Ishanah bowed her head in silence.


	24. Chapter 24

His mind was so fuzzy. He floated in a sea of seductive comfort. He wanted to give in so badly...why was he resisting? A blanket of magic enveloped him, smothering, urging him to simply give up and...and...by the gods, thinking was so _hard _now. He wanted sleep. The magic agreed. Just sleep, it would be wonderful. Yes, sleep...

* * *

The shadows dissipated, dropping the human within to his knees on the ground. The eredar, Drasai, was nowhere to be seen. Saliea cautiously approached him, reaching out a hand.

"M-Mikael?"

The male's eyes opened and met her own, and they blazed bright orange.

"Becoming used to a new body is so troublesome," Drasai chuckled, raising a hand - Mikael's hand - before his face and flexing it experimentally.

Sal felt despair well up in her, and she hurried to push it out of her mind. "What have you done?"

Drasai smiled at her, slowly blinking glowing eyes that were so out of place in the warlock's face. "Taken my objective, dear druid." He stood, gazing down at his borrowed body. "A shame my time in this body will be short. He is a fine specimen, it is little wonder he was chosen."

"Get out of him, foul demon," Sal snarled, stumbling at him with her fists raised. Drasai laughed as she approached, and so was certainly not expecting the sudden surge of explosive energy bursting from the druid; wind, lightning, and debris kicked up from the sudden summoned storm stuck the eredar and lifted him from the ground, throwing him high into the air. Drasai's arms flailed as he fought within the maelstrom of nature magics, and something small and glittering flew from his hand and soared into the sky, disappearing.

After a moment, before Saliea could strike again, the eredar gestured and the maelstrom drew back, and then turned on the druid who summoned it; Saliea now found herself in the midst of the storm, her lighter form being buffeted around much easier and finally being driven flat to the ground.

He landed, then, almost on top of her, as the winds began to dissipate. As she went to stand he caught by the wrists and pulled her upright with an unnatural strength and a pressure that threatened to break her wrists as he held her; she stared up into a familiar face with unfamiliar eyes that pulled at her, threatening to pull her in. Drasai laughed in her face as she hurriedly looked away.

"I wear the face of a friend, do I not? You do not trust me to not harm you?" Drasai chuckled. She looked up at him, a brief glance - Mikael's face was twisted into a smirk, so different from the friendly smile she was used to seeing.

Sal gasped when she felt a spark of pain rush up her arms, and looked down to see Drasai digging his fingernails into her flesh; small trickles of blood welled up around his fingertips and ran down her arm. A whispering reached her ears, and she struggled away as far as she could as Drasai completed a spellcasting. The blood on her arms flared green, then disappeared; he released her and she stumbled away, clutching at her arms.

"What did you do?"

"I took of your essence," he said, bending to the ground. "The warlock's body was exhausted, but now thanks to your life force, it is refreshed."

Hands shaking, Sal looked to see the marks on her arms gone, as was the blood; he began to walk toward her, eyes blazing, and Sal instinctively backed away, moving until she bumped into Sevei's immobile form. He lay so awkwardly...this close she could see he was as stiff as a statue, and was propped up as though someone had just tipped him over. All that seemed to be moving were his eyes, which fixated on Saliea silently.

"R-release whatever spell you have on Sevei," she blurted out.

Drasai pulled his gaze from her and let it fall on the shaman, seeming almost surprised to see that he was still where he'd fallen. "Do you dare to give me orders, little one?"

"I'm giving you the chance to make things right before I kill you.

"I would be more concerned with finding your friend before I do."

Sal stared up at him. "What friend? What have you done?"

Drasai opened his hands, holding them out to his sides – it was hard to remember that this was an eredar wearing Mikael's skin, and Sal trembled a bit as she reminded herself of that – and after a moment, he tilted his head to the sky.

"To take over a body, one must remove the soul from the vessel first. I had done this, and held your precious warlock in the palm of my hand when you attacked me. It would seem, in the chaos of your emotion and desperate attack, that I have lost him within the woods."

Saliea's look changed to one of horror, and Drasai laughed.

"Ah, but it will be a simple thing for _me_ to find him...but how do you think _others_ will fare?"

With a toe, Drasai pulled Mikael's discarded sword to him and picked it up, belting it on and inhaling deeply. "And now to business. You'll have to excuse me," he said simply. "A word of caution, little one: flee, if you value your life." With a grin, he straightened his – Mikael's - robes. "I have taken your essence, and the mage has taken your mind and taken control; you will be easily called to my whim now."

He waved, and she felt her muscles seize up. Sal blinked, and he was gone. No, wait...not gone, but beyond her already and moving away at a quick speed. Conflicting emotions that had up until this moment been held back by uncertain helplessness and terror hit her all at once: concern for Sevei, Malchoir, and her father; outright terror for Mikael – what had Drasai meant when he'd said he held Mikael in the palm of his hand? Mikael couldn't be truly gone...he just couldn't be; determination to see Drasai dead burned in her; exhaustion beat at her, and her head still throbbed from the collision with the magical dome. With a rush, mobility returned to her and she almost fell over Sevei.

She swallowed hard, looking up as Malchoir pulled Donnovan to her.

"_I can set the bone if you can mend it," _he said quickly, shoving Donnovan down nearly flat. Sal merely nodded numbly; Malchoir muttered an apology - that Donnovan of course couldn't understand - then grasped the injury gently but firmly, and snapped the elbow back into place. As Donnovan swore in pain and surprise, Sal sent a concentrated burst of healing into the arm; the night elf male sent a glare at the blood elf, and a nod to his daughter.

"_Stay back," _the blood elf then warned. He placed his hands, palms flat, on Sevei's chest. "_Remember this, draenei," _he muttered, closing his eyes. With a thought, he reached out and seized the magic freezing the shaman in place, and _pulled _at it; like he had removed the binding spell on Saliea earlier, he began unraveling the spell plaguing Sevei.

Sevei collapsed flat to the ground, trembling and weakened, as the spell finally gave way. Malchoir took his hands away, hugging himself and shaking violently as he fought to contain the magic he'd just absorbed; Sal began sending healing magic into the shaman, but he roughly caught her hands and pulled her to him, fixing a tired smile on his face.

"Get to Ishanah. Get...her to safety," he said. "Perhaps...we can buy time...to figure this out."

Mind feeling utterly blank, Saliea stood. "But what about you?"

Sevei smiled weakly up at her. "Go now...get Ishanah away from here. Give us time...do not try to...fight Drasai on your own. I'll be fine, I just...need rest."

"Are you certain?"

"Go, my love. I will...see you again."

She nodded silently, then turned away. "_Malchoir, help my father get Sevei to safety."_

The blood elf shook his head. "_I have a debt to pay to you, I will come with-"_

"_No," _she said sharply. "_Get Sevei to safety."_

_ "Very well," _he said quietly.

Donnovan rubbed his arm with one hand, staring at her intently. "Where are you going?"

"After Ishanah. Get Sevei out of here," she said, inhaling deeply as she began to turn and look around.

He caught her arm. "Daughter, be careful..."

She dove and scooped up something from the ground several yards away, glancing at him from over her shoulder. "I will..." With that, she turned and sprinted away even as her form shrank; a sleek feline form darted off among the trees.

* * *

Meraka raised herself up and launched a powered volley of explosive fireballs over Ortok's head, an orcish war cry on her lips. Ortok, though she couldn't see it, was smiling broadly as he listened to her. Perhaps it was simply the rush of adrenaline from battle, but it would seem the human-raised orc was finally finding her roots.

He found himself shouting a halt as, with a suddenness that surprised everyone around, Meraka was suddenly flung off the back of the wolf with a yelp. The other riders in the group scrambled to dodge around her, one even leaping right over the fallen mage, as Ortok shouted orders to form a protective ring around her while leaping from his own mount.

"Meraka!"

"I'm all right," she groaned somewhat faintly, pushing herself into a sitting position. A knot was forming almost in the center of her head, just below her hairline, caused by whatever had struck her. Her eyes watered as she glanced about, pressing a hand to the throbbing bruise forming on her forehead; the wound was warm to the touch and it took a moment for Meraka to realize she'd actually been cut. Irritably she waved away Ortok and dizzily started to climb to her feet, pausing when something fell from the folds of her robe between her legs and hit the ground.

The mage bent and picked it up, seeing it was a gemstone. It was a pretty shade of blue, with glittering veins of purple winding through the center. Meraka's mind wasn't so fogged from the blow that she didn't wonder why in the world she'd just been beaned in the head by a jewel; in fact...she could almost swear a familiar magical aura was coming from it - granted, it was nearly masked by another one, more sinister and darker than the one Meraka thought she recognized, but still...

Her thoughts were interrupted by Ortok pulling their mount alongside them.

"If you are okay, we must keep moving," he said, mounting up and offering her a hand.

Meraka took the hand, not taking her eyes off the gem in her hand, and let him haul her up behind him once more.

She automatically rocked with the motion of the wolf under her as she cautiously probed the gem for any possible dangers; she'd read in a few of her master's tomes that seemingly innocent objects could often hide very nasty magical traps - being sent to another plane, or having her mind crushed was not high on her list of priorities. Finding no immediate hints of danger, she placed her free hand over her eyes and whispered a quick spell of sight, then peered into the gem's depths.

Ortok craned his neck to look over his shoulder when he heard Meraka's strangled gasp.

"What is it?"

The mage slapped the back of his head and pointed off in another direction. "That way. Shattrath. _Quickly!"_

_ "_But-"

"Oregom mash'oka garum vosh!" the mage snarled into his ear.

Ortok, very much wanting to keep that part of his anatomy intact, quickly adjusted their course.

* * *

"Can you stand? We shouldn't linger here," Donnovan said, bending over Sevei.

Sevei simply shook his head, the smile on his face quickly deteriorating into one of utter exhaustion and pain. "No...I cannot..."

"Why did you tell her to go? You heard that monster just as I did - he can call her at anytime, she's as good as a slave!" the elf suddenly snapped.

The shaman shook his head weakly. "I had...to get her away...from me...she has the...mirror. She can...take Ishanah and run..."

Donnovan, with Malchoir's silent help, tried tugging the draenei into a sitting position, but for some odd reason the male wouldn't bend at his waist. It was as though that point on his didn't exist, that it was still solid from that freezing spell.

"What is wrong?" he finally asked.

Sevei's grimaced, eyes fluttering shut. "I am...out of magic...and out of time. Drasai, he...he was turning me...to stone...from the inside out." The shaman shut his eyes completely a moment, then opened them and stared up at the sky. "I tried containing it...but I have failed. I had...to get Saliea away...from me, before..."

"Oh. Oh no. No. You're not dying on me," Donnovan growled, clutching his fists on the shaman's chest. "There has to be something-"

"There is nothing...you can do," Sevei said, as firmly as he could. "The blood elf...returned to me...movement, for all the good...it will do in my...remaining time here. You won't get...me to help in time."

Sevei's eyes slid shut once more. "Before you go..." He sighed deeply, head slowly tilting to one side. Donnovan leaned close, listening as the shaman whispered; when Sevei fell silent, Donnovan jerked back like he had been burned.

"I-I swear I'll uphold that promise," he said quietly after a moment. Sevei didn't respond, and Donnovan didn't press further.

"Go...h-hurry..."

Donnovan stood shakily, mind reeling. The events of the last few days ate at him - he'd just met his daughter, had just met what could only be her lover, and now would have to tell Saliea of Sevei's demise. And now he'd been charged with slaying an eredar-possessed human, that his daughter also apparently had an attachment to.

"Come on," he said bluntly, nudging Malchoir with the toe of his boot.

The blood elf looked confused, gestured down at the shaman, and Donnovan shook his head. When the elf pantomimed further about taking Sevei with them, Donnovan again shook his head and drew his finger across his throat slowly. Malchoir's eyes widened and he looked down at the draenei, mouth gaping slightly. He said something in his tongue, looked away from the dying male, then shakily stood and hurried to follow Donnovan as the night elf raced back toward Shattrath.

* * *

"Clearing ahead."

"Slow up," Ortok ordered, reigning in his mount and suffering another slap across the back of the head from Meraka.

"Just charge through, we must reach Shattrath immediately!"

"I'd rather not rush into a clear area when we've up until this point rode through fighting," Ortok said, raising himself up. "Spread out, stay alert."

"Sir, there's someone ahead."

"Alive?"

"Doesn't look like it."

Ortok guided his mount ahead of his men, feeling Meraka lean around him to look passed him. There was a single figure on the ground, a large crevasse opened in the earth beyond the body; it looked to be a...

"Oh gods..." Meraka breathed moments before an anguished shout rose behind her.

Zephyr was off his mount and running full out for the body on the ground, dropping to his knees and frantically seeking a pulse.

"Brother? _Brother?"_

"Who is it?" Ortok asked, hopping off his wolf as Meraka slid off and ran for the draenei.

"The shaman," she answered sharply. With the orc male shambling along behind her, she dropped to her knees next to the distraught Zephyr.

Sevei's skin was pale, almost appearing bleached, and he lay on his back unmoving. Meraka reached out and touched the draenei's chest - it was unnaturally cold, and under her fingers she could feel the remnants of the spell that had killed him. It had expired as the draenei had, so it hadn't reached full potency, but Meraka still thought the shaman lucky to have died before his entire body had turned to stone. An experimental magical probe revealed his innards had reverted back to normal - he was just simply dead.

"What a terrible way to die..." she whispered.

"He still lives," came the snapped reply. Meraka seized one of the shaman's wrist and felt the faintest of pulses beneath her fingertips. So not simply dead, but very near to it.

Zephyr was patting the shaman down, finally letting his fingers trace up to Sevei's neck, groping around under the collar of his armor.

Ortok bent low over them. "He hasn't much time left, and we've no healers among us... What are you doing?" he finally asked Zephyr.

"He has to be wearing it...please, Light, let him have been wearing it..." the draenei muttered, finally letting out a crow of triumph as his fingers came up, trailing a fine silver chain. He tugged at it, pulling more of it free from underneath Sevei's armor; he fiddled with it until he revealed a cross-shaped pendant with a loop on the top, a few inches in length and shining brightly. Zephyr let out a relieved sigh and gently sat the pendant back on Sevei's chest.

"He...may...he might..." Zephyr sighed, looking up at them. "We must bring him with us. There is still a chance..."

"What is that?" Meraka asked, lightly touching the pendant.

"He is a shaman," Ortok explained with a shrug. When Meraka looked up at him, a blank expression on her face, he cleared his throat. "Shaman are conduits to the spirits, the elements. If they are favored enough by them...then they and the spirits may chose when and where a shaman dies. It is, however...it is very rare." He glanced down at Sevei, a somber look on his face. "He is not yet gone, but even if he does... we may still have time to..well, let's get moving!" the orc roared. He gestured and two warriors behind them dismounted and came forward, gently lifting the limp form of Sevei between them and draping him across Ortok's wolf.

"Come. We must hurry to Shattrath. All speed. Plow through anything in our path," Ortok ordered, doubling up with another warrior as Meraka climbed upon his mount behind Sevei.

She lightly touched the shaman's shoulder, exhaling loudly, then urged her wolf into a sprint as the group moved off.

* * *

The sheer agony faded, replaced by blessed numbness. He'd tried so hard to hold it back, so hard, but ultimately he had failed. Regret replaced the pain, regret over deceiving his beloved and making her leave in the name of sparing her the pain of watching helplessly as he died. Regret over what could have been, had he lived on; day dreams of standing proudly beside her as a loving husband, of someday seeing their children grow up, of dreams about bouncing grandchildren upon his knee like his own greatfather had him...all of that was gone now.

"Has he become aware of us yet?"

"No. I fear he still dwells upon his mortality."

Voices broke him from his reverie and caused a brief stirring of caution within him; who was there to speak, in the darkness of death?

At once, light flared into existence, separating into four - no, _five -_ distinct colors and shapes. There was a formless shifting collection of blue, a jagged gathering of brilliant red, a smoothness of green that pulsed like a heartbeat, and a white mist so faint he almost couldn't believe there was anything there. What were these...wait... Water, fire, earth, and wind, and...

Far behind the four, nearly invisible against the darkness, was a roiling, pulsating knot of purple-black that, while the other four radiated life, this seemed to be the absolute absence of it.

"_He sees us."_

"_He has yet to fully leave his body. Our decision?"_

Slowly he blinked - or, at least, thought he blinked - as he regarded the light and dark before him. The voices were subtly different, he realized - the blue was gentle, relaxing; the green was deep and strong; the red whispered and crackled; the white mist, however, had thus far remained silent.

"**There can be no argument. He belongs in death.**"

He clawed at his ears as the purple spoke, the voice grating on his ears and slicing through his mind, leaving him sick and dizzy.

"_I am inclined to agree. He has done nothing of consequence."_

"He died young, no time to make a name for himself."

"_A pity, truthfully_."

"Now wait. You have said yourself he is not yet dead."

That came from the blue, the water. He eagerly turned his attention to it, listening.

"Wait. I would speak for him."

"_What? Ridiculous."_

"What's done is done, he is dead. Usher him on and let us be done with it."

"No." This was forceful, enough so that he jumped in surprise.

"No," came the repeat, back once more in that gentle voice. "I speak for him now: he released one of my own. His allies and he are involved in conflict. They might need him yet, and besides, his body still lives, it is merely his spirit that is adrift between life and death. There is time yet. Perhaps..."

"_No. I will not hear of speculating about the future, not from you._"

"Let us lend our voices and decide. I grow weary of him, and of you."

"**He belongs in death. There can be no other decision."**

"He belongs where he belongs. If my opinion is not to even be considered, then neither shall yours be."

Again he clawed at his ears and head as the lights fell into uproar. Opening his eyes he saw with a start that the blue light was expanding, shoving its fellows aside, and was reaching out to him. He wanted to move, he did, but his form felt so sluggish and unresponsive, and the grasping tendrils of blue easily ensnared him and pulled him close. It was like being held by his mother, and he relaxed as he realized it meant him no harm.

"Silence, all of you. If it can be so easily declared that there is no decision to be made, then there is no reason for any of you to have a say. I act on my own."

"_...do you truly find it to be that important that this mortal not pass on?"_

"You said yourself he has done nothing of consequence. This, in my eyes, is not true. He saved one of my own from torment. That is enough for me."

"**And for the rest of us?"**

"I'm not forcing you to assist me, am I?"

"ALLOW IT."

Such a powerful voice erupting from the white mist startled him from where he was cradled in the arms of the blue light.

"This is madness. He has done NOTHING to deserve such a gift."

"HE STILL LIVES. WE CANNOT GIVE WHAT HE ALREADY POSSESSES."

"_He is correct. We cannot gift life to that which already possesses it"_

"**HE IS DEAD."**

"No."

He felt movement, felt himself floating closer to the ring of light; the green pulsed gently at him, the white danced merrily around him where he hung in the grasp of the blue, and the red collapsed upon itself until it was the size of his closed fist, and hovered before his eyes.

"_Remember this, shaman: you may have defeated death this day, but next you appear before us...you truly will have to had earned the right to live once more."_

All he could do was nod numbly; the red light blinked a few times, then shrank even further, then began to spin itself out into a chain, thinner and thinner until it was like a single strand of thread. One end attached itself to his chest, above his heart, and the other stretched out into the infinite darkness.

"_Follow it._

He wanted to tell them he wouldn't, he wouldn't EVER forget this, but the thread was beginning to tug him away. He left the protective grasp of the blue, moved through the white, and with some dismay realized the thread would lead him right passed the purple shadow.

"**Do not think you have escaped me.**"

The words echoed in his mind and followed him as he rushed blindly passed the shadow and fled.

* * *

Unnoticed on the back of the wolf, Sevei inhaled deeply.

* * *

Demons stepped reverently aside, immediately ceasing what they were doing, even if it meant their demise at the hands of the Shattrath defenders, as he passed.

Drasai moved along at an easy trot, his borrowed body refreshed and ready for battle after having taken nourishment from the life force of that tiny druid. A sinister smile crossed his features as he thought about that night elf: she would be welcome entertainment once his business was over. The eredar wasn't certain what made her so alluring, but he had not properly had a plaything in centuries. There were many ways to bring about delightful suffering in the mortal races, without killing them, and he had had so long to ponder such things that the idea of having a test subject for his attentions was a very pleasant one indeed.

He pulled his mind from thoughts of the after, and focused on the _now: _ he had an urgent appointment with Ishanah, he mustn't keep her waiting.

His gaze roamed over the fighting going on around him; the defenders recognized him as one of their own, apparently not noticing the wide berth the demons were giving him. All the better. The fewer distractions he had to deal with, the quicker he would reach his target. His hands flexed just thinking about it...

He came to full awareness as his boots struck stone, and Drasai looked up to see he was standing on a bridge leading into the city. The eredar paused a moment to peruse the warlock's memories, learning that he was standing on the very bridge the human had used to exit the city in pursuit of his brother.

He glanced down at his body, ran a hand over his face; the human body he wore now could almost pass as a twin of Datavian, so alike did the brothers appear. He thought back to where he'd left the mage's body crumpled on the forest floor; he would need to retrieve it when his business with Ishanah was done.

Drasai sighed; he actually wished that the human had been eredar instead, a kindred spirit, but such was not the case.

His boots clattered loudly on the stone as he strode into Shattrath.

* * *

Ishanah looked up as suddenly soldiers rushed about and formed a ring five men thick around her.

'He's coming,' she thought sadly, standing up straight.

"No. Let him through," she said, his voice soft but firm, somehow carrying to all the men.

"High Priestess, I must respectfully decline," came a voice from outside the ring. The soldiers parted briefly enough to allow a mounted paladin through.

Savion swayed slightly in the saddle, but his visible eye burned with determination. "I will see that eredar dead before I allow him to touch you."

Ishanah smiled faintly. "You may change your mind once you lay eyes upon him."

"Doubtful, I-"

He abruptly stopped talking as a shout of alarm rose up from the men at the western edge of the ring. Turning, the draenei's eyes widened as he saw the human warlock, Mikael, striding toward them with his sword drawn.

"Mikael, what are you doing? What is wrong?" Savion called out to him, only to make a guttural noise of surprise when the human raised his sword and struck down the two nearest him.

"That is not Mikael," Ishanah said sharply, raising her hands and summoning a burst of Light. Immediately Mikael dropped, grasping at his eyes; those nearest the human approached him cautiously, placing blades at his throat and heart.

"No more need die, Ishanah."

The voice, little more than a hiss, filled the room like water; Savion's eye darted around, seeking the source, but all there was was only Mikael laying on the ground, staring up blankly at his captors.

"Send them away; you always were more concerned with preserving life than most."

"Show yourself, demon!" Savion roared, hands going for his warhammer. "Try yourself against my mace!"

To his credit, Savion didn't appear fazed as the Mikael they had on the ground simply vanished...and twelve of him appeared in various places around the room, all with their swords drawn and magic dancing along their fingertips. Instead the paladin painfully eased himself from the saddle and took up a battle stance, his mace gripped tightly in both hands.

"It is too late, for all of you," the human illusions said in unison, and together attacked.

The illusions fought like real men, took injuries like true flesh and blood, but where draenei fought and died, the illusions simply vanished when they took a death blow and reappeared, whole and new and ready to fight further. Savion himself had slain Mikael four times, but again the illusion kept rising up to battle him further; what was worse was the injured paladin was becoming tired, and quickly. He was drawing more and more on the Light to sustain him, and recognized that his endurance level was rapidly approaching - a paladin he may be, but even he had his limits on how deeply he could draw upon the Light.

Ishanah was assisting where she could, healing and protecting, using her knowledge of the Light to assist those who were fighting and dying on her behalf...and so was partially distracted when she felt a presence at his back.

"Hello there," Drasai whispered into her ear even as the draenei felt the prick of a sword over her spine. One thrust would easily slay her, but if she acted quickly enough-

"Ah, no. No ideas of heroics," Drasai hissed, pushing hard enough on the weapon that Ishanah felt it puncture skin and draw blood. "I would hate to have to slay you before I've had my fun, and besides...look up, dear Ishanah."

Ishanah let her gaze rise, and gasped. Floating in a ring around them - how had she not noted or sensed that in any way? - was a score or more of captured soldiers from outside, wrapped tightly in solid shadow and suspended helplessly. Their mouths moved as they shouted, but what they shouted she couldn't tell as they were utterly silent.

"Try it and they die, A'dal," Drasai said smoothly. Ishanah had not even sensed an attempt on the naaru's part to help those hung in a circle around it, but obviously the eredar had. "Even you have your limits. Attempt to save them, and not only could I kill well over half of them before you could free them, but countless others outside will die as well when your protective shield fails."

For a long moment there was only the noise of the false Mikaels fighting the draenei forces, then Ishanah exhaled slowly. "What do you want? How do I end this?"

"Merely come with me, without argument, and the innocents go free," Drasai replied quietly. He dug Spellcleaver in a tad deeper, and Ishanah felt a wet patch on the back of her robes beginning to grow. "I am only interested in you."

"What of the warlock?" Ishanah pressed.

The eredar laughed. "What of him?"

"Release him," someone snarled.

Drasai looked up in time to catch the toe of a boot to the collarbone; he and the owner of the boot, Saliea, tumbled away from Ishanah, Spellcleaver sliding across the floor and out of the eredar's reach. Sal scrambled to her feet, reaching into her pocket with one hand and reaching for Ishanah with the other.

"Hurry! We must-"

She stopped where she stood, a low gasp escaping her; the mirror in her hand dropped to the floor with a clang as she stood stock-still. Behind her, Drasai lay on the ground, fingers extended in her direction.

"I told you to flee, fool, but I suppose you've saved me the trouble of seeking you out later," he chuckled, standing.

Sal stared blankly ahead, an orange tint to her eyes; Ishanah ground her teeth together and took a step toward her, but was roughly pulled back by her own men and surrounded again.

"Now stand there like a good little girl," Drasai said as he walked past the druid, even patting her on the head; she didn't respond at all, didn't even blink.

"Let her go...and I'll come quietly," Ishanah said after a moment, gaze lowering to the floor.

Drasai shrugged. "Actually, I'm afraid I've changed my mind. You'll come regardless, to hell with the innocents," he said, chuckling nastily as he raised his hands.

"No!" Ishanah lunged for him, shoving through those standing around him and throwing a powerful gathering of energy toward the eredar. Drasai threw back his head and laughed as he brushed the spell aside and leapt forward, seizing Ishanah by the front of her robes. With a gesture, the two and Saliea disappeared, leaving anguished and angry draenei in their wake.

* * *

Wolf paws scrabbled on stone as their mounts made the adjustment from soft forest floor to the stonework of Shattrath city. Ortok led them quickly to the center of the city, racing in under one of the archways leading into the middle, circular structure, and they arrived to see a multitude of subdued draenei forces freeing their allies from what appeared to be blankets of pure shadow.

"What happened?" Ortok asked, leaping from his mount and rapidly approaching the soldiers.

They tensed at his approach, then turned back to their work when it was apparent he was no threat; there was a huge draenei toward the back issuing orders in a somber voice, and most of those freeing the captured turned, formed ranks, and hurried back out into the main bulk of the fighting force.

Meraka dismounted but pulled her wolf forward by the riding harness, shoving draenei out of the way as she quickly made her way toward that large draenei, Ortok following in her wake.

"Savion!"

The draenei turned toward her and his one eye widened; a low groan escaped him as he pushed the mage out of the way and almost hesitantly reached out to Sevei laying across the back of her mount.

"Is he...?"

"Nearly, he needs the attention of a healer," she said in a rush, helping the paladin gently pull Sevei off the back of the wolf and settle him on the ground. Savion dropped to his knees, swaying slightly, but began to chant a prayer beneath his breath as he bent over his youngest son. Meraka grabbed the arm of a nearby draenei and hauled him over to help. Moments passed, Sevei did not stir, but others were beginning to take note of them; soon Sevei had four paladins including his father, and two priests working on him.

"What foul spell did this?" one of them muttered. "There's so much residual spell work to cleanse..."

The orc mage glanced around, eyes roaming over those few draenei still left in the room; Zephyr hovered anxiously over where his brother lay under the attentions of the healers, and the naaru floated silently above them all. Her gaze finally fell upon an injured warrior propped up against the far wall, a bloodied bandage wrapped around his upper thigh; she hurried to him, tripping over something in the floor that let out a metallic thunk when it hit the stone. As she regained her balance, she looked back to see...

Meraka's hands shook as she picked up Spellcleaver.

Clutching the sword to her chest, she turned on the injured fighter.

"What happened here?"

The warrior coughed once, blinking up at her blearily. "The...warlock happened. He came in, fought us, somehow made one into many. He...took Ishanah, and the little druid, and left. They're gone," he said bluntly.

"Then we shall find them."

Meraka jumped at the voice behind her, spinning around to see Malchoir and that night elf from the dungeon with him, the night elf having been the one who spoke.

"You again. Who are you? How do you plan on finding her?" the mage asked, eying him.

The night elf held up a mirror. "With this." He flipped it over in his palm, then eyed the sword in her hands. "I could use that."

Meraka clutched it tighter. "Who are you, exactly? I believe I know, but I wish to hear it with my own ears."

"My name is Donnovan. I am Saliea's father, her parent by blood and not adoption," he said. "Give me that sword."

She held it out of his grasp. "I'm coming with you."

"Sword. Give."

She offered him the hilt and he took it, admiring it a moment, then looking back to her. "Any idea on how to free the warlock from the eredar's control?"

"No, but..." she trailed off, an idea forming. "No, but I may have a plan on how to incapacitate him."

"Good enough for me," Donnovan said, offering her a hand. "Let's go."

* * *

They reappeared on a floating hunk of rock high in the sky, with the plains of Nagrand stretching out in every direction as far as Ishanah could see, though to their north she could just make out the outline of Oshu'gun, the glittering mountain of crystal and the ship the draenei had crashed into Outland. Ishanah stood near the edge, and she knew that somewhere behind her prowled Drasai - still in Mikael's stolen body - and the bespelled druid was bound in conjured ropes and tossed off to the side.

"A wonderous view, is it not?"

Ishanah didn't turn to face Drasai, instead focusing on Oshu'gun in the far distance.

"I thought it poetic, to bring you here. K'ure ended here, didn't he? And here was the beginning of the orcish crusades that nearly ended your people. And so, here you too shall end – the first of many."

Ishanah still remained silent, even as Drasai's words brought unbidden to her mind memories of the far past. She still did not respond when she felt a light hand on her shoulder.

"Are you ready, Ishanah? Are you ready for death?"

"This need not happen, Drasai," she said quietly. "The willingness to release those innocents tells me that the Legion has not corrupted you wholly. The Light can help you, Drasai, it-"

Ishanah was interrupted as the other began laughing. "The Light, pah!" After a moment of further laughter, Drasai wiped tears from his eyes. "The Light is a farce, it is nothing. It will not save you, and it certainly will not save me." He circled Ishanah, reminding the draenei of a vulture circling carrion.

"Now...now to begin, yes," Drasai said idly, inhaling deeply. "I have waited countless years for this." His eyes flared orange, flickering like flames. "I have thought long and hard on how best to punish the draenei for leaving me behind. I intend to kill you...but death this early would be pointless, too easy. No, Ishanah, you required something special. Something I wish to perfect before I inflict it on the rest of the draenei."

"Drasai, there were so many the Prophet was unable to save," Ishanah whispered, bowing her head. "There are many elders still alive who remember and mourn them every day. If I could go back and save them, I would, even at the cost of my own life."

"Silence, fool," Drasai snapped. "I assure you, you will die...but only after you have felt the pain I went through. You will burn in agony, writhe in betrayal, suffer as I did as the Legion twisted me to their will." He grabbed a handful of Ishanah's robes and pulled her close. "You will beg me for death, this I promise you...you, and everyone who follows you."

With unnatural strength he swung the draenei around, and Ishanah saw with a start that there was a fel rune etched into the ground, glowing a foul green. Now she began to resist, but Drasai dragged her easily forward and shoved her into the rune; Ishanah cried out in pain as the rune reacted and zapped her, dropping her to her knees as it drained her magic away and scattered her thoughts. When she finally pulled enough cognitive reasoning together, she found that she was bound in demonic chains at wrists and elbows, pulled tightly toward the ground so she couldn't stand, and it was through these manacles that she felt the rune devouring her magic.

"I intend to kill you and the rest of the draenei, Ishanah...but only after I have _turned _you first."

* * *

He moved through featureless darkness, wondering if he was even heading anywhere, following that thin red thread that was his only guide back to the realm of the living. But, strangely enough, the thread appeared to be changing; it was taking on a more golden glow, growing slightly thicker, and seemed charged with energy that made him want to break out into a sprint.

He thought this ridiculous, as he couldn't even tell if he was moving at all, but the more the thread thickened and grew, the stronger he felt and the more confident. He _had _to be going somewhere, even if he couldn't detect it. It just felt right, it felt correct.

Finally, he thought he could feel a...changing in the darkness. Like it was growing lighter - another ridiculous thought, but one he clung to. Any sort of change from this unceasing _nothing_ was a welcome one. Even as he thought he saw his surroundings change, the thread he was following ceased being a thread...and he ceased following it.

It swelled with a suddenness that startled him, and now instead of him following it it was pulling him along; he didn't fight it, but decided to let it tug him where it would. He felt like it was picking up in pace too, speeding him along to...somewhere.

* * *

"His heart beats more strongly, I think we might have beaten death."

"I won't believe that until my son opens his eyes. Keep at it."


	25. Chapter 25

Ishanah clung to what little magic she retained, pulled it back from the spell that struggled to devour it; if she could gather it, and release it in a burst, perhaps she could -

"Ah ah, no, Ishanah," Drasai suddenly snapped, appearing directly in the draenei's line of sight. "No heroics." He reached over and seized Ishanah's chin, forcing her head to the side, and Ishanah's gaze fell upon where the little druid lay, tied up and seemingly forgotten off to the side.

"You see her?" Drasai whispered, gesturing with his free hand. Her body rose and floated several inches off the ground, then immediately was wrenched to one side. The limp form flew out, away from the rock they were on, and hovered there over empty air. "Is your life worth hers? I will let her drop, Ishanah. She will plummet and die...and I'll allow her to be aware of her demise, just before she strikes the ground."

Ishanah grimaced, biting her lower lip but not releasing what magic she held protected from the spell. Drasai studied him a long moment, then twirled a finger; Saliea's body reacted, twisting in midair so she was hanging upside down, her head pointed at the ground so far below.

She bit her lip harder. To release the magic and possibly free herself would seal the druid's fate...but to do nothing would condemn herself as well as possibly the rest of the draenei.

* * *

"He grows stronger, but he still does not wake," said a priest, his brow furrowed as he further imbued Sevei's body with healing magics.

Savion ground his teeth together. "But he lives?"

"He lives," the priest confirmed. "He appears to simply be...deeply asleep."

The paladin blew out a deep breath and eyed his son anxiously. "I wish I could get my hands around the throat of whoever nearly slew him." He brushed his hand over the shaman's forehead, frowning as he moved down to his chin and carefully pulled away what looked like a metal shard. Gently he removed it and sealed the wound, leaving behind the faintest trace of a scar.

He stepped back, swaying and dropping to his knees as a wave of stress and exhaustion finally overcame him. The priest that had assured him Sevei would live grabbed his arm and guided the paladin away, taking him back to where he had been laying only moments before. Savion frowned at the bedroll, but sat down, leaning around the other male to look back at where Sevei lay. Zephyr was ushered over next to him, and Savion clapped him on the back halfheartedly.

"He'll live, son."

Zephyr looked up at him, sighing heavily. "If this is what it feels like to nearly lose a sibling, I'm not certain I want children."

Savion rested his head in both hands, shaking his head against a sudden wave of dizziness. "It is...worth it, in the end, truly." A moment later, he was on his back with Zephyr leaning over him, with no recollection of laying down.

"How hard were you hit, father?"

"...hard."

* * *

"Comfortable?" Drasai asked mockingly.

Ishanah was now fighting the pull of the chains binding her to the rune; they were dragging her down, trying to force her hands to touch the rune itself, and Ishanah was doing her best to resist. She was nearly totally drained of magic, and rather full of dread over what would happen should she actually be forced to place her hands on the rune she was trapped on.

Drasai sat a few yards away in a throne he had raised from the rock beneath them. It was hardened and polished to a sheen, and bore black swirling patterns similar to those Drasai wore on his true body. Drasai lounged easily in it, one leg tossed up over an arm of the throne, his other stretched out along the ground with one of his arms resting across his own chest. His other hand dangled down the side of the throne and rested on Saliea's head, currently in her feline form; Drasai was petting her like he would a simple beast.

"You know," the eredar said suddenly, stretching both hands over his head before bringing them both to rest onhis stomach. "I hear that if you trap a druid in a bestial form long enough, they lose their sense of self and begin to think of themselves as a beast." Casually he tugged off his gloves and let them drop to the ground. "Perhaps when I've bored of the druid, that's what I'll do. She'll make a fine guard."

"Let her go, Drasai," Ishanah said hoarsely. "Your conflict is not with her."

"The only letting go she shall see is if I decide to throw her over the side," came the answer.

Falling silent, Drasai allowed himself a moment to fall inward and seek the core he knew lay within the warlock's body. It was still there...pulsing with power, and if Drasai looked close enough he could see what looked like a fine network of tendrils reaching from the core and winding their way through the warlock's body. He could see too how the power repeatedly had damaged Mikael's body – the pain the warlock experienced must have reached an excruciating point, and Drasai found it interesting that the mortal had not died from the strain. This Mikael human, he was certainly a fine find...it was little wonder, then, that the man had been chosen for such an honor, which was yet to come.

Drasai stood, kicking the gloves away from his boots and reaching up to begin removing his robes. "The time has come, I do believe." He pulled the maroon robes off, admiring the runework in them a moment before tossing them aside, standing there bare-chested; Ishanah watched as Drasai inspected his stolen body once more, shaking his head.

"A shame, a true shame, I cannot remain in this shell longer." He let his fingers trail down his bare chest and sighed deeply. "To business. I believe you are now fully drained of any magic and any worthwhile resistance."

Ishanah watched silently as Drasai stretched again, then closed his eyes and raised his hands over his head.

"You should be honored," he went on, spitting out the last word bitterly. "Not many ever saw the ritual, witnessed the power, that it takes to make one a glorious eredar."

"You do not possess the magic needed to do it," Ishanah responded, swallowing hard.

"No, alone I do not..." Drasai chuckled, sweeping into a mocking bow. "The warlock's power coupled with my own shall be more than enough needed. Fortunate, that he was a warlock, as that makes things so much easier."

Ishanah fell silent, grinding her teeth together, as Drasai dropped to one knee just on the edge of the rune and shut his eyes. The eredar made a few gestures with his hands, slow and jerkily, and trailing behind his fingers came purple streamers of fel energy that twisted in upon themselves to form chains stretching from Drasai to Ishanah. The draenei tried leaning back, away from the grasp of the spell Drasai was starting, but it seized her around the throat and forced her head upward, tilting her chin up so she stared straight into the sky; from the corner of her eyes Ishanah could only watch as Drasai stood and raised hands above his head.

"There must be death. There must be blood spilled...whose blood, it matters little. How fortunate, then, that the warlock has bound servants, unsuspecting, and available for what I require."

Drasai searched the warlock's memories long enough to learn the names of his demons, and then called. As the first demon came to his call, the felguard, Drasai chuckled and drew a finger across his throat. With a strangled howl, Shaathun crumpled, his throat erupting into a fountain of blood, hardly having materialized completely; the blood remained floating in the air, flowing over to the ever-tightening chains on Ishanah and fusing with them, turning them a venomous yellow.

"From the felguard, we receive hatred. And now... Fear," Drasai said next, again slicing his hands as he summoned up...

Jakpit appeared in a puff of smoke, quivering and whipping his little tail about.

"Whatdoesmasterwishof...you'renotmaster! Whoareyouyou'renot-" the imp babbled, rapidly backing away as Drasai advanced on him. A nasty grin was on Drasai's face as he rubbed his fingers together; a wisp of smoke appeared, thickening and growing until a shimmering noose of shadows draped from his hands.

The little demon turned and ran, but was dragged whimpering and screeching backwards by the noose as it unerringly fell over his head and tightened about his neck. Without a hint of remorse Drasai throttled him, Jakpit squealing and clawing at the rope around his neck to no avail. When the creature went limp, Drasai casually picked up Shaathun's dropped axe and slit the dead's imp throat upon it. Again, the blood that spilled soared through the air and combined with the chains, this time turning them acid green.

"Betrayal."

This time it was the succubus. She flicked her wings and looked around, fingers dancing along her whip, her gaze finally falling on Drasai.

"What did you need me for?" she asked, again looking around.

Drasai didn't reply, instead stepping to her and taking a leather-clad hand in his, bringing it to his mouth and kissing it. Elervina looked surprised...and then slightly hopeful.

"M-master?"

Drasai let his hand drift up to her chin, grasping it gently as he smiled. A small smile was working its way across the succubus's face, her expression turning from hopeful to hungry. Drasai allowed her to press herself against him, hugging an arm around her as he slid behind her.

"Master...I never thought...never dreamed-"

Still remaining silent, Drasai pointedly stared into Ishanah's eyes as he let his arms come up...and roughly seize Elervina in a headlock.

She stood still a moment in shock, then began to struggle as she choked.

"M...m...mas-" she croaked, pulling at the arms that squeezed around her head and neck.

Drasai twisted; there was a loud crack, like a gunshot, and the succubus went limp with a strangled wail. Again the eredar made use of the felguard axe, slitting the throat and draining the blood. The chains turned an electric blue as her blood adhered to them.

"Pain."

A felhunter, and a voidwalker, appeared side by side and nearly disappeared just as quickly, the voidwalker in a pain-filled scream as his essence was scattered and the felhunter with a howl as he was torn to pieces by Drasai's will. Their blood wrapped around the chains and they turned a blood red and glowed faintly.

"Using the emotions of others will amplify the effect, I have found," Drasai said softly. "That they come from demonic creatures themselves can only serve to enhance their effect."

With a suddenness that startled Ishanah, the chains tightened and began to burn into her clothing and skin...and voices within her head began to whisper. She looked up helplessly as Drasai stood in front of her, squatting down to stare her in the face.

"And so it begins, Ishanah. Welcome to my nightmare."

Ishanah could only watch as Drasai cut the first three fingers on his left hand, and smeared the blood across Ishanah's lips.

And now, along with the voices, came images...and agony. As the assault began, Ishanah frantically sought deep within herself, and dredged up the few fragments and wisps of magic left in her body and hastily, blindly, cast a spell before the demonic forces wrapping around her forced a scream from her.

* * *

Drasai leaned closer, engrossed in the spectacle as Ishanah's eyes went blank as the spell began its work, forcing the draenei's mind inward. He grinned ferally as the other's eyes fluttered shut as the chains binding her began to spin gently - there remained a single step to begin...

He laughed aloud as the draenei cast a pathetic spell that rushed passed him, a clean miss.

Still chuckling, he reached out and grabbed Ishanah's hands, reaching deep within himself. He located where the core of power within the warlock lay and reached out to it. The entire rock they floated on shook as Drasai's power doubled, tripled, quadrupled. With a howl of triumph, he took Ishanah's hands and slammed them palm-down onto the rune beneath her, and reveled as Ishanah screamed.

* * *

Behind them, off to the side and forgotten, Saliea blinked her eyes as she came to her senses. An odd sensation was racing down her body; she felt lighter, and as she began to take in more of her surroundings she realized that magical ropes bound her shoulders to ankles...and even as she realized this, they were dissolving, disappearing. A golden light infused her body, wiping away her exhaustion and clearing her thoughts.

She wriggled, mentally growling as she found that she would have to wait for the spell releasing her to work, as the ropes still bound her too tightly for her to squirm free.

The druid looked up in alarm as she heard a scream.

* * *

A scream met their ears as they appeared on what looked like a floating island far above the plains of Nagrand.

"Ishanah..." Meraka breathed, then grimaced. The air itself quivered with energy - was Mikael truly that powerful, or was it just Drasai? Either way...

"Plan?" Donnovan asked in a rush, looking ahead. Mikael's - no, Drasai's - back was to them, and so they had precious few seconds before they were no-doubt noticed.

"Go at him with the intent to kill," Meraka said, already launching into a spellcasting. "Trust me."

"As you say," he replied, nearly knocked off his feet as the orc released her magics; what appeared to be a wall of conjured water roared passed the rogue and slammed into both Drasai and Ishanah. The eredar was knocked flying, landing on his shoulder and rolling several feet; the shield settled over Ishanah gently, the chains hissing and spitting sparks as they battled with the magical barrier.

Meraka's brow furrowed, sweat already visibly forming on her forehead.

"I can't hold...for long, go!"

Donnovan shot off as Drasai was climbing to his feet, the rogue leading with Spellcleaver held in a high guard. Drasai pumped a hand and a flurry of shadowy bolts flew at the night elf; Donnovan twisted and turned, even flipping headlong over them, and landed nimbly while levering an overhanded chop at the eredar. As he drew close, the eredar fell back, then came forward in a rush; the air around Donnovan ignited, blistering his hands and face even as he scrambled away.

He felt an icy chill fall over him then, and turned to see Meraka with a hand outstretched to him, still struggling to hold up a shield around the ensnared Ishanah even as she shielded the night elf. The hair on the back of his neck raised, and instinctively he ducked, just barely feeling the crackling heat of another spell rush over his head; blindly he kicked out backward, striking some unseen part of Drasai as he sprang away. When he turned, he could see his boot print on the eredar's knee, and saw a literal wall of black fire roaring at him.

Vividly remembering - and praying - Donnovan swung Spellcleaver in an arch.

* * *

_ He was beaten, bruised, bloodied. Whimpering and sobbing. Begging for death and being refused by laughing captors. Again and again they lashed at him, burning flesh and bone only to heal him whole so they could torment him further._

_ Screaming, watching as his flesh fell off him like water, something delicate within him...snapped._

_ Further tortures, so horrific all he could remember was the pain, assaulted him. As time wore on, seemingly an eternity, the pain became less potent, less real. Dully he endured because he had no choice. Glowing eyes watched gleefully as new and exciting ways of inflicting pain were tested on him, as they mocked and teased him._

_ Finally...finally, they had forced him into the rune circle._

_ He had sworn his soul away, if only to buy a reprieve._

_ Shaking madly, he stared down at his hands, watching as his skin hardened and darkened; insanity filled his mind and wiped blessedly clean his will to die, instead filling him with a want, a need, to rend and kill. To destroy all things he had held dear in his life._

_ Beauty. Art. Peace. All of it must perish, alongside the ones who had left him to die._

_ His body twisted, distorted, as he received his new power and his new education at the hands of his new masters. Kil'jaeden and Archimonde. Sargeras. _

_ Yes, glory to Sargeras! He was the true lord of all that was and would be, and wouldn't be. He would never abandon, so long as he was obeyed. All would join him, or cease. There was no other way._

_ He promised himself...yes he promised himself...that someday he would bring to his glorious master would be the one who had delivered him to Sargeras in the first place. He would succeed where Kil'jaeden had failed, he would be raised up and placed at the master's side._

_ He...he..._

The tirade faded to a point where it didn't completely dominate her mind; Ishanah blinked, felt a sense of self return to her, and then felt the true terror of what had nearly happened fill her. She forced her eyes open, staring up into a glittering shield that wrestled with the chains choking her. Swallowing down the urge to be ill, Ishanah turned her scattered thoughts inward, and, doing her best to push aside the bewildering, terrifying images and voices, slowly began to pull at the mage's shield, siphoning off magic even as she felt someone fighting to hold it.

As she gathered magic to himself, she began to build a shield of her own...

* * *

Meraka felt the draenei pulling at her spell, nearly cursed her for such idiocy, then felt the first hints of another shield being formed beneath her own, weaving in the gaps within her barrier and strengthening what she was fighting to hold strong.

A cry from the side caught her attention, and she narrowly missed having her head removed as Spellcleaver - accompanied by a shattered spell of pure blackness - went sailing by. Donnovan clutched his hands, shaking violently, and Drasai was advancing on him.

Already feeling stretched far too thin, Meraka gestured and sent a chilling blast of wind at the eredar. It hardly fazed him, definitely did not do what she had intended it to do, but it did buy the night elf time to scramble away and gather himself for another assault. Drasai's eyes, glaring bright orange, slid from the elf to the orc.

"Fools, the both of you," he snarled. Meraka had a scant moment to brace herself before a ripping wall of force raced for her. She was forced to drop the barrier around Donnovan and hastily throw up a magical field around herself; Drasai's attack hit the field and partially dissipated, merely knocking her from her feet instead of destroying her.

Donnovan, still shaking, sprinted over and fell into a roll, grabbing Spellcleaver as he leapt back to his feet and fell into a balanced stance. "Have you any other plan than 'try to kill him?' Because that's working so well," he panted hoarsely.

"Trust me, it won't be much longer," she gasped, picking herself up, wholly surprised to she that not only did she still exist, but the shield she maintained around Ishanah still held.

Drasai threw back his head, laughing. "You cannot hope to defeat me. You live because I will it so! I will drink of your blood and scatter your souls across countless worlds!" Still chuckling nastily, he stalked toward them. "Any final words?"

Donnovan's eyes widened, fixated on a point beyond Drasai. "...duck?"

Drasai's brow furrowed in annoyance, then he pitched forward as something struck him in the back of the skull. As the eredar toppled, the slight form of Saliea could be seen behind him, now free from her bounds. Donnovan plunged a hand into a pouch at his belt.

"Daughter! Catch!"

The mirror left his fingers and flew through the air at her; the druid caught it easily, then fell to the ground as her legs were swept out from under her. Drasai towered over her, a hand reaching for her.

"Very well then! Obey me, and kill them!"

Saliea grinned up at him, fully feeling his command in her head but, with the protection of Ishanah's spell, not feeling at all compelled to follow it. She shifted her position and swung a foot. "Sorry, Mikael," she muttered, catching the unsuspecting eredar between the legs with her blow. Drasai's face twisted in surprise as he crumpled and she rolled away and hurried to Ishanah's side.

Donnovan met her there, slashing several times with Spellcleaver and sending bits of magical chain every direction. Saliea pressed her hands to Ishanah's face, offering her what rejuvenating magic she had left; the draenei was sweating and had her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth moving soundlessly. She slumped into the druid as Donnovan cut the last of her bonds, and Saliea dragged her from the rune, only to hear a roar from behind them.

"_I WILL NOT BE THWARTED!" _Drasai screeched, throwing himself at them. Donnovan leapt and met him head-on.

"Go! Take her and go!"

Saliea ducked under Ishanah's arm, hefted her, and ordered the mirror to take them anywhere but here. With Drasai's bellow of denial ringing in her ears, she and the draenei vanished.

* * *

"NO!"

Donnovan was deafened as the eredar, scant few inches from his face, screamed in anger. Frantically the rogue grappled with the eredar, gritting his teeth as his hands and armor burned from the heat rising up off the demon-possessed body. Drasai fixed crazed eyes on him, and inhaled deeply; Donnovan shut his eyes, praying for a quick end, when he felt the weight of the eredar leave him. He cracked an eye open, to see Drasai picking himself up from the ground and Meraka advancing on him, a glittering sapphire wand in one hand and the other glowing a deep blue.

"Shouldn't be long now," she said, aiming the wand and letting loose a crackling blast of lightning.

"Until _what _exactly?" he groaned, struggling to his feet. "I don't intend to die without reason."

"Just trust me, night elf," the orc snapped in reply, ducking as Drasai let loose with a spell. For a moment, Donnovan was blinded as the two spellcasters went at each other; the rock they floated on cracked and groaned dangerously, leaving him to wonder if their little floating island was about to blow apart, but the earth held together as mage and warlock battled.

He knew little about magic, being unable to use much of it himself, but even the rogue could tell Meraka was badly outclassed by the eredar. As he began to observe the battle more closely, he could now tell Drasai cast with the intent to kill, while Meraka merely focused on keeping herself alive - something that appeared to be getting harder and harder as time wore on. Indeed, Drasai's casting seemed to be getting more random, more powerful, and -

Suddenly, Drasai stopped and began to shake; a hand inched up to his chest, a look of surprise and disbelief on his face. He dropped, still shaking, down to one knee and sucked in a ragged breath; his brow furrowed as he pulled magic to himself to seemingly ward off this new assault of the orc's, but it only caused him to crumple further in agony.

"What is this...?" he gasped, wheezing.

"Be ready!" she shouted to him, reaching between her breasts and pulling out a...gemstone?

"Go! Now!" the orc called then, holding the gem between her hands. It floated an inch above her palms, then shot like a bullet at the stricken eredar.

Donnovan didn't question why the demon had stopped, nor why Meraka was throwing jewelry at it, but instead raced once more toward the eredar and what would likely be the rogue's death. With all the fury and strength he could muster, he swung Spellcleaver in a two-handed grip, a blow that would cleave Drasai's - Mikael's - head in two.

Drasai held up a wobbling hand, gasping in pain while throwing up a shield of black flame that Spellcleaver grated down, sending up purple sparks but otherwise doing nothing.

And then the gemstone struck the shield.

The jewel shattered, peppering Donnovan with superheated shards that left deep cuts on his face and chest, but he stood still, mesmerized by what _else _the stone was doing. From the broken remnants of the gemstone was rising a pale blue smoke with purple swirls through it. Drasai saw this, and hoarsely cried out as it penetrated his shield and enveloped him.

To them, it seemed like the eredar suddenly went mad; Drasai screamed in agony, clawing at his head and shaking his head violently as the mist wrapped around him. He flailed helplessly, causing Donnovan to hastily back away, and after several moments of near-seizure, the eredar dropped face-first to the dirt and lay there unmoving.

Donnovan stared at him, then glanced back at Meraka to see the mage drop wearily to her knees.

"Now...now it is up to _him," _she wheezed.

"Who?"

"Mikael."

* * *

As her only commands had been anywhere but the floating rock, and as far from Drasai as possible, Saliea wasn't terribly surprised when the mirror dumped her and Ishanah unceremoniously into the fountain found in the center of the Temple of the Moon. A trio of startled attendants jumped to their feet, unnerved at the sight of the ailing draenei and battered druid that had appeared in their midst out of mid air, but they quickly recovered and waded into the fountain to them, gently bearing Ishanah out and into the soft grass surrounding the fountain with Saliea following closely behind.

"Who is this? What ails her?"

"Quickly, fetch the High Priestess," Sal panted, dropping to her knees beside the prone draenei. "A demonic force plagues her, we will need the full might of the Mother Moon to remove it." One of the attendants leapt to her feet and scurried away as the other two began to pray over Ishanah.

Sal eyed the draenei, seeing that while they had freed her from the chains, they had left deep burn marks where they had wrapped around her. She still had her eyes shut, and she assumed the continuous movements of her lips was a spellcasting she couldn't hear, some sort of defense against the forces assaulting her; a hand on her shoulder nearly made her jump, but she quickly moved out of the way as several senior priestesses flocked to the draenei and joined the prayers of the other two.

Tyrande herself was not far behind, and Sal, though wanting badly to return to help Meraka and her father, was beginning to feel exhausted once more and so simply scooted away until her back found the wall. Gazing at her hand, Sal could see the golden glow that had infused her was fading, and so concluded that Ishanah's spell was ending - as she could only assume that it was her spell that invigorated and protected her from Drasai's control, going back would only handicap Meraka and Donnovan. Quietly the druid hugged her knees to her chest and watched the priestesses.

* * *

His prison shattered. Consciousness came back in crystal clarity - he was back in his own body, at least for the time being. Pain assaulted him from every direction, but it was a familiar pain. It throbbed in time with his beating heart, and he knew what had happened - Drasai had overworked his body.

Where was Drasai?

Allowing himself to orient a moment, he finally plunged toward the only knot of resistance he felt in his entire body. With deadly determination, Mikael broke into his own mind.

Pain tore at him, threatened to destroy his very essence, and he recognized this as a spell put into place to prevent his return if he somehow found a way out of the soul gem he'd been imprisoned in. With hardly a thought he rushed into it - this was HIS body, HIS mind. Drasai had no place here, and thus had no _power _here. Sure, the forces ripped at him, but he denied them, refused to believe they were there, and his disbelief dissipated the magic.

Abruptly he stopped, not because of any damaging magic but because of the...memories.

He saw the events of the last few moments in reverse, saw Meraka encouraging the demon to press harder and harder, until finally the weaknesses in Mikael's body had given her the opening she needed to return Mikael to where he belonged. Deeper in he went, and then the images began to separate into two different viewpoints: Mikael's and Drasai's. What was worse was the memories weren't just _there, _they were diametrically opposing one another, almost like one was trying to overwrite the other. Drasai wasn't just borrowing his body, he was slowly becoming Mikael even if he didn't realize it, for within the human's own body, his memories were superior. Before Mikael's startled gaze, he saw more than one remnant of Drasai get devoured by one of his own.

No...wait. Not devoured, but _combined. _The memories were joining - both of them would soon cease existing in the sense of two separate beings.

Where was Drasai? How could he not notice that his own essence was being destroyed by the being he had sought to dominate?

As he moved through them, Drasai's thoughts began to attack him; he calmly turned them all aside, and as he did his own ceased attacking. A sort of stalemate fell, the memories and knowledge standing side by side, no longer combining but how long would such a stalemate last?

He scanned those immediately around him, feeling his heart sink as he observed them: most were from his own childhood. He sighed deeply as he came across images of happier times, when his family had been whole. The smiling faces of his mother and his brother danced before him, before he shoved them away...but rising to take his place were memories not his own.

Suddenly he was in an expansive workshop, artistic mediums of all sorts scattered here and there. Here he stood before a block of wood, a carving implement in one hand, but then he was suddenly at a forge pulling a delicately filigreed sword from the fire. Now he was imbuing a painting with what felt like pure happiness and pride, taking a bit of his own heart and soul and placing it within this piece he had created with his own hands. He couldn't wait to see the look on her face when she saw what he had created for her...now, he was handing a beautiful flute wrapped in a soft cloth to a face familiar to Drasai but unknown to Mikael, and yet...

The draenei female took the flute and smiled her thanks, and Mikael felt his chest swell with pride that his gift had been so well-received...but of course it wasn't Mikael's pride, but _Drasai's. _

Mikael abruptly tore himself from the memories, now wary of becoming trapped within his own mind, being sucked into memories not his own. He shook himself, refocusing his thoughts, trying his hardest to ignore the thoughts of a lost mate and the satisfaction of creating perfection and beauty for the enjoyment of others. That Drasai was a far cry from this twisted, distorted creature Mikael dealt with now.

With renewed determination, Mikael delved deeper into his own consciousness, and to his surprise the memories followed him, dancing around him like wraiths. Voices whispered to him, some understandable, others in what he could only assume was draenic and thus not understood, but ultimately he felt oddly comforted by their presence.

Suddenly, he was upon him.

It was like walking into a room - at first there was just shifting knowledge and thought, and then there was Drasai, holed up in a corner and snarling ferally at him.

"No! Stay away! Don't harm me! I won't let you hurt me anymore!"

Mikael was blown back under a sudden onslaught from the frenzied eredar; he recovered, floating amongst the memories that swirled about him, and examined his enemy. Drasai wasn't in an actual corner, but he certainly acted like it; the eredar faced him, hunched over and hugging himself, but what drew the warlock's attention was what the eredar was crouching over. Again, what he perceived as a core of something like black rock, polished and glimmering gently, was in the corner and seemed to both dwarf, and be dwarfed by, the eredar that huddled near it.

If he had found this center of Mikael, he then knew that the core somehow gave the warlock access to any branch of magic he chose. He'd tapped into that power within Mikael, that much was certain, as Mikael could feel how his body ached though it felt so far away now...

Mikael braced himself as the eredar lashed out again, spinning to the side to avoid the attack - and vaguely wondering what damage this would do to him. He launched himself at the other, determined to drive him back from that core, and Drasai stood up, and Mikael gasped.

The eredar's body was fragmented, cracked, and in several places simply missing. Bent over as he had been, Mikael hadn't seen it before, but now that he was standing Mikael could see that most of his torso was gone, as was a large section of his arms near the elbows. The half of Drasai's face that had been closest to the core was gone as well, leaving only a floating orange orb of an eye in the empty space.

"The power you released from this core...it's killing you," Mikael whispered, then started. "It's killing _us."_

"I won't be tortured again!"

"I'm not here to hurt you, I just want my body back!" Mikael said, dodging another mental blast.

The eredar inhaled loudly, and Mikael cried out in surprise as those memories floating around him, his and Drasai's alike, soared for the demon and adhered to the missing sections of body, recreating what wasn't there.

Mikael glanced down at himself, and gasped; his own limbs bore marks and cracks, and while none of him was missing just yet, he knew that if he lingered too long here without figuring out some way to cast Drasai out, he too would fall to pieces. He looked back up to Drasai in time to see a bit of him crack and fall off, and be absorbed by the core – what WAS that thing? Why was it even within him? - and a sudden realization struck Mikael - it was too much, too much power for Mikael's mortal body to hold, plain and simple. If this kept up, both would be destroyed, along with the body they fought over.

"You have to stop this," he said slowly and clearly, carefully approaching. "We're dying."

"You lie," the eredar snarled, curling in on himself. "You lie. You're one of them. You'll hurt me. I won't let it happen, I won't!"

Mikael dove aside as a wall of force flew at him. His eyes widened as he saw a tiny bit of himself fleck off and disappear - his destruction was beginning even as the eredar's began again. Desperately he turned to Drasai again.

"Look at me! Look at yourself!" he yelled, ducking as the eredar cast once more. "My body can't handle this!"

"Get away from me!" Drasai roared, and Mikael was buffeted by more memories racing passed him to bond with the demon.

Mikael held up a hand and watched a finger fall away into nothingness, and looked up at Drasai with grim determination. "Very well...two can play at this game."

He reached out and commanded memories to him, and they reacted; he fought hard to keep his concentration from being sucked into those memories adhering to him, but even still he could feel the wrongness, the difference, of those that didn't belong to him. Suddenly, he knew draenic; now, he knew how to play a flute; he learned the art of woodcarving next. As they touched him, they became part of him, and Mikael knew that those memories of his own that Drasai had taken were gone forever, whatever they had been, and likewise those that had become entwined together would never be his nor Drasai's ever again.

His body whole once more, and with a host of memories swirling about him, Mikael squarely faced Drasai. He drew the memories in around him even closer - and, curiously enough, noted that he had more of Drasai's memories pulled to him than his own. Closing his eyes, Mikael swallowed hard.

"I have done a great many things in my life. I have discovered the Light and served as a paladin. I have learned of the darkness and bent it to my will. I have lied, cheated, and manipulated my way to finding my brother and bringing him to justice at the cost of my own innocence."

"I went after him with vengeance in my heart, and even had I not been severed from the Light, I would have fallen anyway. Vengeance in the name of justice is still vengeance."

Drasai was snarling ferally at him, eyes blazing orange as he bent to the core. Mikael pointed at him, and to his surprise found that Spellcleaver was in his hand - or appeared to be, anyway. He found it comforting, but smiled sadly all the same.

"You and I are not so different, Drasai. But we're also drastically not the same. I may not die a hero, as I dreamed of as a child," Mikael said slowly, inhaling deeply. "But I will die to send you back to whatever hole you crawled out of." He paused, raising Spellcleaver high. "I'm willing to let go, are you?"

He let go of the sword.

As Spellcleaver tumbled and struck the floor before him, Mikael felt a massive force of magic building at his back. The eredar looked up, pure naked terror in his eyes as he looked at Mikael and then beyond him, and with a strangled cry turned to _flee._ Mikael dashed forward, leapt, his hand reaching for that core...

* * *

Meraka felt like a rock had been lifted from her head and shoulders. A pressure she hadn't been aware of had just disappeared, and the mage looked around warily, expecting some new attack even though she could clearly see the human's body laying on the ground convulsing in front of her.

Donnovan was aching, but his eyes were on the warlock instead of his injuries; finally, after fidgeting for several minutes, he turned to the orc.

"Mage? What do we do?"

Meraka ground her teeth together, still watching as Mikael twitched and writhed.

"Slay him," she finally spat out, abruptly turning from him. "It may be a mercy now. Slay him, as you promised the shaman."

"Are you...sure?"

"Yes, just do it," Meraka said through gritted teeth.

Donnovan nodded, sucked his bottom lip into his mouth a moment, then sighed heavily and raised the sword once more, aiming to take the head cleanly from the shoulders.

He stopped and dropped Spellcleaver when Mikael gave a sudden heave and raised his head. He fixed a blank stare on Meraka, then hung his head as he struggled to his hands and knees; Donnovan rapidly backed away, weapon at the ready, as the warlock hunched there and shivered.

Just as suddenly as he had moved, Mikael vomited.

Instead of bile, however, Mikael vomited black smoke. It billowed to the ground and flowed away like water, moving several feet away and forming a solid knot that twisted and turned in on itself, growing bigger as Mikael ejected more and more of it from his mouth.

Finally, the knot began to form into something more humanoid, and began to take on a solid appearance.

"It's Drasai," Donnovan snapped, turning from Mikael to face the writhing mass of darkness. He shouted in surprise as Spellcleaver was suddenly torn from his hands.

The sword floated in midair, turning lazily in circles, and moved to float over Mikael's head. The warlock snapped his head up and pointed; as he fell to his side weakly, Spellcleaver shot forward. It flew at the darkness and pierced the center, and the smoke abruptly blew away to reveal a small figure in the middle.

Drasai stood, not the demonic eredar with the black stone skin and silver swirls, but as the person he had been before the corruption. His skin was a pale, pale blue, and he had a thick braid of sapphire-blue hair hanging down over one shoulder, twin curving horns arching forward from his temples. Spellcleaver jutted from the left side of his chest, sunk in to the hilt, and the eredar stared at it thoughtfully.

He raised eyes - normal eyes, not orange - to them all and nodded...

Meraka felt the air crackle, and a sense of dread filled her.

"Grab the warlock!" she ordered even as she rushed for both Mikael and Donnovan, the beginnings of a teleport spell on her tongue.

Donnovan seized Mikael under the armpits and heaved him upright, a hiss of pain escaping him that rapidly turned into a continuous groan. The air crackled again, and Meraka quickly ceased casting the teleport spell and instead threw up the most powerful shield she could muster.

In front of them, still buried in the chest of the slain Drasai who was amazingly still standing upright, Spellcleaver let out a faint chime that caused the air to visibly vibrate...and then the sword shattered.

A roaring wall of deep red fire raced at them, flowing around the shield Meraka fought to hold up. It seemed to go on forever, and just as the mage thought she would lose the struggle to keep the shield strong, the fire was beyond them and disappearing into the sky. She let it drop, and then let herself drop to the ground, shaking in exhaustion.

Donnovan all but threw Mikael back to the ground, dropping to his knees and hugging his hands to himself. The smell of singed flesh met the orc's nose, and she looked over to see the night elf's hands were a mass of raw skin and blisters.

"He burns from the inside," Donnovan gasped, blinking tears from his eyes. His arms and chest bore burn marks too, as did every other part of him that had come in contact with Mikael.

Meraka looked from him over to where Drasai stood - or HAD stood. All that remained to mark where the eredar had stood was the scorched hilt of Spellcleaver; Meraka crooked a finger and the hilt slid across the ground and came to a rest at her feet. She gingerly touched it, and instead of heat the metal was unusually cold; cautiously she picked it up and wrapped it in a section of her robes, then turned bleary eyes to Donnovan.

"I hope you don't mind waiting a moment for me to regain my strength."

Donnovan - carefully - stuck two fingers into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a flask.

"Drink."

Meraka didn't argue, merely unscrewed the top of the flask and took a sip. Instantly she felt revitalizing warmth spread from her mouth down her throat, and from her stomach outward. A few more drinks of the potent liquid and she felt well enough to cast a final spell. She returned the top to the flask and handed it back, then finally cast the spell to return them to Shattrath.

* * *

A crack sounded through the air, and Zephyr looked up in alarm in time to see the orc mage and two others appear in the air about six feet off the ground.

"Overshot," he heard the mage mutter, and he scrambled to cast a pillow of cushioned air beneath them as they dropped.

Meraka rolled and stood, one arm out as several draenei rushed for them.

"Don't touch him!" she snapped, magically shoving them all away as they reached for Mikael and Donnovan. The night elf rolled to his feet and limped beside her, hands still shaking. Meraka held something wrapped in a part of her robes in her other hand, and with her free hand she shoved Donnovan toward the draenei instead.

"See to him, but don't touch the other."

With that, she turned to look up at A'dal, and Zephyr knew the naaru and the orc were no doubt speaking to one another. The orc nodded shortly, paused, then shook her head.

_Zephyr, I have need of you. A small favor._

The draenei got up as the words of A'dal echoed through his mind and stepped up to stand beside Meraka. "Yes, A'dal?"

_A simple enough task. Open the warlock's mind to me._

Zephyr blinked silently a moment, staring down at Mikael. "Er...what?"

_I cannot intrude to see what ails him. You, however, may be able to. Open his mind, and I shall follow._

Somewhat apprehensively, Zephyr knelt beside the human and reached a hand for his forehead, then quickly drew back and sucked on his burnt fingers. "He burns like fire," he muttered, examining his fingertips to see blisters already beginning to form.

_Please, try once more._

"I will," he said, thinking. He briefly ran his uninjured hand over the fingers, imbuing them with a spell of ice, then pressed them to the forehead of the warlock and quickly muttered the incantation to form a mind link.

He was instantly propelled into the warlock's mind, finding no resistance to his intrusion at all, and felt like he was in a maelstrom. The warlock's thoughts were scattered everywhere, and he could sense that somewhere in the midst of all this chaos, Mikael himself fought to hold everything together.

_Thank you. You may return now, I shall continue on._

Zephyr gratefully retreated from the spell, feeling the gentle presence of A'dal and the other naaru brushing passed him. He came fully to, to find a priest tending to his sizzling fingers.

Meraka was eying him anxiously. "What is he doing?"

Zephyr shook his head. "I know not. The human's mind is in chaos...he is not possessed anymore?"

Meraka shook her head. "No, I saw him cast Drasai out and kill him." She glanced down at what she held in her robes, then sighed.

* * *

He was back at the core, and it was pulsing. Power ate away at his form, cracking and dissolving him, and try as he might he couldn't seem to draw away or stop himself from drawing on it. He could feel it - it _wanted _to be free to imbue him with magic, but he knew without a doubt his body couldn't handle what this core seemed to be doing. He had at first thought to simply let it be and let it do as it would, but that would result in his destruction, and like that of anyone who happened to be around him.

And he STILL didn't know where this thing came from! Who put it here? Had he really been born with such a ticking time bomb inside him? Desperately he struggled to push away the power, feeling his control over it slipping even as his mental abilities fractured and cracked.

_Warlock?_

Mikael, focused on his task, jumped at the call, and the core surged strongly.

"Who's there?" he grunted, trying to force the magic to calm, to where it had been before the eredar had called upon it.

_Where are you?_

"Where do you think?" he laughed helplessly. "You can't tell me that you, whoever you are, can't see this?"

He felt someone brush by him, and felt several others gather behind him. "What...do you want? Who are you?"

_I am A'dal, and the others-_

"Are the other naaru, okay then," Mikael finished for him, straining as he managed, with the loss of a chunk of his shoulder, to almost silence the power raging around the core.

_What is this?_

Mikael didn't reply at first, as the core suddenly heaved and nearly flung Mikael's tenous control away; he quickly tamped back down on it, gritting his teeth. "It's where...whatever this great power I possess comes from, or at least my perception of where it comes from. It's my core, it's AT my core, it...wants free reign. But that'll kill me."

The naaru were silent, but he could feel them conferring amongst each other, leaving him to silently struggle against the force trying to fully release the power he possessed.

_We have a plan._

"By all means then, share it," came the grunted reply.

_Do you not recognize the power you hold within?_

Mikael laughed. "I recognize that it's every sort of magic you can imagine, and probably ones I never even thought of before. I don't know who put this here, where it came from – I don't know how to control this! I don't know what that eredar did!"

_Look into it, and tell me what you see._

A surge of fear rose in him. "No. Not again."

_Not...again?_

"I looked in once. I don't recall what I saw, but I know it terrified me. Not again."

_What did you see?_

"A pair of eyes, my eyes, staring back at me. But it wasn't me. It wasn't."

The naaru was silent a long moment, and Mikael began to wonder if they hadn't left him when finally-

_I beg you, look once more, and don't see, feel. Sense._

"If you haven't noticed, I'm a little busy trying to keep myself from oblivion."

_Just try._

With a sigh, Mikael peered at the core directly and reached out within it. At first all he felt was a jumbled mess of raw magical energy, felt how it wound through his entire being like the veins that carried his blood, then finally things began to stick out, began to materialize in feelings and images that he thought he could...

Sal...

Sevei...

Meraka...

Ishanah...?

Distinct magical auras were entwined within the network of tendrils that connected to the core. But how was that possible...?

_You must let the power go free._

"What am I looking at? Why is there...you can sense it too, can't you?"

_Let it free._

"It'll kill me. What is this?"

_It will kill you if you struggle to hold it in. Trust in us, set it free._

"_What is this?"_ Mikael growled.

_Just trust in us, warlock. We promise you shall live through this, and then we shall explain everything._

Mikael panted, stared into the grate in confusion, and shook his head. "I...no, no I can't -"

_You must._

"How can you be so sure?"

_Because we have seen this before._

A long moment of silence passed, then Mikael shook his head again.

"This is madness..." he muttered, then flung himself away from the core, setting it free to do as it would.


	26. Chapter 26

A fierce light blinded him, and when finally his sight returned he found himself laying flat on his back, staring up at a crystalline-blue sky. The grass beneath him was soft, and a stray strand tickled his cheek as Mikael slowly shook his head, raising a hand to scratch at his hair.

He sat up, eyes widening as he took in his surroundings. He was in a vast field, flat as far as he could see in every direction, no trees nothing in view. The sky, too, was cloudless from horizon to horizon, but what was most startling was the grass. It was tall, waving in a gentle wind, and as it moved in the breeze it shifted from a deep green to a pale purple; he plucked a strand and looked at it, seeing that the vein running through the center of the grass was the source of the purple hue. Admiringly he watched the colored ripples run through the field around him, fully convinced that he was seeing this...

Because he'd died.

This isn't exactly what he imagined the afterlife to be like, but then again he wasn't certain he knew what he had expected in the first place. Again he scanned the area and found nothing but himself; that the afterlife would be so lonely was definitely something he _hadn't _been expecting.

He stood, and found that he was clothed once more in his maroon robes, his one arm still bare and the robe hem still falling short of where it should be, but he wasn't dirty or hurt. There wasn't pain or exhaustion...further indications that he had passed on. He inhaled deeply, smiling at the freshness of the breeze.

"An interesting choice of scenery."

Mikael nearly fell over at the sound of a voice behind him. He whirled around to find...

A much younger Mikael stood behind him, clad in a simple tunic and pants outfit, and with his long hair tied into a tail at the nape of his neck. Mikael let his mouth gape open, staring soundlessly at his younger self, even as the boy studied him intently.

"W-who are you?"

The younger Mikael tilted his head. "I am A'dal...what do you see me as?"

Mikael swallowed hard. "Myself. Much younger. I'm maybe ten."

A'dal looked down at himself, then shrugged. "An odd way of picturing me, but it serves its purpose."

"And that is?"

"Giving you something you are comfortable speaking to."

"Right," Mikael snorted, sighing heavily. "Where am I?"

A'dal chuckled behind a hand, a very boyish-sound, and Mikael had to remind himself he was actually speaking to a being of Light before the urge to throttle him rose up. "I know where we are if you are asking about physical appearance, only because this place was once described to me in great detail. However, if we are speaking in literal terms, we are now in the realm that lies between waking and dreaming." At Mikael's blank stare, A'dal continued. "You are no doubt familiar with the druids' knowledge of the Emerald Dream? A place where Ysera rules. This realm is similar to that, but separate. I'm not certain it even has a master, nor am I certain how, exactly, this realm functions beyond what we naaru have discovered on our own."

"What do you mean?"

"You have noticed your surroundings, no doubt, and also noticed that no one else save us are around?" Mikael nodded, and the naaru gestured; the warlock jumped as a chair seemingly appeared from nowhere and A'dal seated himself on it. "Try changing your immediate surroundings. Think, and it shall be."

Raising an eyebrow, Mikael nevertheless sighed and stared at the ground at his feet, picturing a low cushioned stool he remembered from his small room in the Cathedral of Light in Stormwind. It appeared in the spanse of a blink, and Mikael dazedly sat down on it, looking up at A'dal who still wore the guise of a younger Mikael.

"What's happening to me?"

A'dal leaned back in his chair. "A good question. Allow me to ask you one in return, and then I shall explain all."

"Go ahead."

A'dal inhaled deeply. "Where were you born?"

"In Elwynn, the forest Stormwind is built in."

A'dal nodded slowly to himself, then snorted. "That would make a warped sort of sense, I suppose..."

Brow furrowing, Mikael leaned toward him. "What would?"

A'dal sat up straighter. "Tell me, have you ever heard of ley lines, Mikael?"

"Of course. What magic user hasn't?"

"Ley lines are magical ropes of energy that nurture worlds, and even connect worlds together, much like the Twisting Nether you can see in the skies of Outland," A'dal said. "They are...pure power. Many utilize their power directly, some to the point of being able to perform miraculous acts of magic, though generally this form of mastery takes decades to learn." A'dal gestured up to the sky, and Mikael gasped when he saw what appeared to be a glittering network if web-like lines crossing the previously-perfect sky. "Ley lines are the most studied, yet possibly the least understood part of all magic. They can be drawn upon, and they can be contaminated...and they can, in turn, contaminate," A'dal said quietly, eying Mikael.

Mikael shrugged helplessly. "I don't see how this applies to me."

"Stormwind received its name due to the winds roaring off the mountains behind the city," A'dal explained. "There is a ley line pattern somewhere in those mountains...and I fear it may have contaminated you at your birth."

"Contaminated...me?"

A'dal nodded. "As I said, ley lines are the most studied, yet least understood. We cannot yet explain why it happens but...do you recall me stating we have seen what afflicts you before?"

Mikael nodded.

"We have traveled across countless worlds, we naaru. Our knowledge of magic is vast, but not complete. We have...seen your affliction in several other beings across the ages, and all we have noticed is the afflicted subject's proximity to a ley line at birth. However, even this occurrence seems random, as some children touched by a ley line show no change at all, while others - like yourself -show a natural tendency toward magic." A'dal clenched a fist and the web-like strands of energy in the sky vanished. "What has essentially happened, warlock, is both difficult and simple to explain. I shall explain the simple side of the matter first."

"All creatures of any given world have an inherent ability to touch and manipulate magic. Control, of course, will differ with the individual. Some describe their magical abilities as though they have a vessel inside of them, that fills with magic and is slowly depleted as they cast their spells. Others describe it as using their own strength and stamina, claiming it is their mind that fatigues rather than them running out of some finite resource. It depends on how you visualize your inner self, and with either explanation you only need rest to regain yourself after you are spent. As I mentioned earlier, some magic users are able to perform miraculous feats of magic, and this is because they have discovered how to tap into the ley lines and draw on raw magical power directly without needing to rely on what they themselves possess."

Now A'dal paused, smiling almost sadly at Mikael. "There are those we have seen, however, that have a natural connection to all magics in their world. It is as though a small piece of the ley line becomes trapped within them... As time goes on, this little spark of a ley line begins drawing magic to itself, regardless of what its host can actually handle. Think of it as filling a vase with water, then continuing to pour water into the vessel - somehow, it all fits, yet a strain begins to build up within the vessel. You draw magic into yourself, directly from any nearby ley line." A'dal gestured a moment, at a loss for words. "It gives you an inherent magical property, as it were, and because of this all schools of magic become open to you. In the...beings that we discovered had this affliction, they over time accumulated so much magical energy within their bodies that they were a danger to themselves and others unless they released that energy and returned themselves to a normal level of power." Now A'dal looked up at Mikael, a wry smile across his face. "Like holding back a flood with merely a twig. You saw yourself how your 'core' as you described it, was trying to burst free of your control...that was you reaching your breaking point. Any longer, and the power would have burst from you regardless of your attempts to hold it back, to disastrous results."

As the naaru fell quiet, Mikael mulled over everything he'd just heard; parts of his mind were reeling, thinking of the devastation he could have caused accidentally had the event A'dal had just described occurred. Images of his friends, all hurt or dead because of him, danced through his mind and made him shudder.

A'dal let him sit in silence and think, only the rustle of the grass around them accompanying their separate thoughts.

Finally, Mikael looked up. "So I'm a danger to everyone around me...why are you helping me?"

A'dal smiled at him. "You are only a danger if you allow yourself to grow to dangerous levels of stored energies. The first sufferers of this malady died, to our sorrow, and over time we have discovered ways of locating and assisting others who have it...we had no representative on your world when you were born, unfortunately, and...you have lasted much longer than any others without assistance."

"That doesn't answer why you are helping me."

"Because we can bind your power, keep you from drawing directly from ley lines. It is a spell tried and tested on willing beings who wished to protect further generations from tragedy."

"What will that do to me?"

"It will shield you." A'dal chuckled again. "Blocking the influence, the interference, of the ley lines will not affect how you may wield your magic, but it will certainly keep you from building up a large reservoir of it. In fact, you might find it a bit easier without that power bearing down on you. Think of it as drinking from a stream versus the wide ocean."

Mikael half-listened, still thinking on the danger-to-others part of this problem afflicting him. "...why didn't you tell me all this before? Before I went after my brother? Why let me wander willingly into the hands of the enemy when you knew the power I possessed?"

A'dal sighed. "We held the belief that had we helped you before you confronted your brother, before you confronted Drasai, you would have lacked the power needed to have any chance at survival and you likely would still be in the demon's thrall." A'dal smiled. "You overcame the odds and lived, Mikael."

Mikael snorted bitterly. "So my chances were succeed or die? Funny, that."

"Why do you say funny?"

"Because I had no intention of walking from the battle alive," Mikael said bluntly. "It's something I've struggled with, about as much as I struggled with the decision to slay Datavian or not. But...I had decided on death before I pursued my brother into the forest." He stared at his hands a moment, then back up at the sky. "What is happening to me right now? Where are we?"

"We are carefully draining the excess magic from you, and have removed your consciousness to this realm to spare you any pain that may result - your soul is still firmly attached to your body, fear not," A'dal added when Mikael's face darkened momentarily. "And as for this place...this is a field on Argus."

Mikael's mouth dropped open. "Argus?"

A'dal nodded. "This is indeed a field on Argus, the previous homeworld of the draenei." He looked curiously at Mikael. "I was wanting to ask how you came by the knowledge of it."

Mikael was silent a long time, then shook his head. "Drasai...when we fought, he pulled memories, mostly mine, to him for strength. I in turn did the same...but I saw - in my mind I saw our memories battling, and in some cases combining. I'm not sure where I end and he begins, even now, when he's dead and gone," he said quietly.

A'dal nodded slowly. "So there remains a bit of him within you still."

"Yes," Mikael replied. "I haven't even begun to see what of my past he stole from me...but his stolen knowledge remains in my head."

"Something else we shall address, when you are well." A'dal stood, and as Mikael watched his form began to fade.

Mildly panicked, Mikael leapt to his feet, reaching for A'dal. "Wait a moment, where-"

"Fear not," A'dal said gently. "You have given me much to think on, and I, you. When you next see me, it will be with your own eyes...and I won't wear your face."

"Wait! Drasai! He..."

The naaru came slightly back into focus and gazed at the human expectantly.

Mikael's mouth worked open and closed a moment as he gathered his words together, then he took a deep breath. "When he was still within me...I could see him, there in my mind. He looked at me like...like he saw a monster. I'd never seen such terror." His gaze slowly fell to the earth at his feet. "Is that all I am? A monster?"

"Ask yourself that question, and see what you truly believe the answer is." A'dal stared up into the sky, a sad smile on his face. "Perhaps Drasai merely stared into the face of his redemption and simply could not understand it, or accept it."

Without a further word A'dal faded from view, leaving Mikael alone in the field once more. Angrily, Mikael kicked out at the stool he'd been sitting on; he watched it bounce away and disappear as he no longer wanted it. He turned and saw A'dal's chair was gone as well.

With a frustrated sigh, Mikael flopped to his back in the grass and gazed up at the sky, thoughts spinning.

* * *

Sal jerked awake - when had she fallen asleep? - at the gentle touch of a temple acolyte on her shoulder.

"Do you require aid?" the female asked her.

Sal started to shake her head, then sat upright. "Ishanah. Is she okay?" she asked in a rush, ignoring the scream of her muscles as they protested being moved so quickly.

The acolyte smiled. "It was discovered she was not in the grasp of the foul demonic magic for long. The damage to her was minimal, for which all are grateful. She is merely exhausted, and insisted on resting by the fountain instead of more appropriate quarters."

Nodding, Saliea pulled herself to her feet, half-crawling up the wall behind her; when she was certain she had her balance, the druid wearily made her way to the center of the temple, and easily spied the draenei sitting at the edge of the water. She did look exhausted, but her eyes were bright and currently she was gazing up at the statue in the center of the pool; bathed in soft moonlight, the stone female night elf was surprisingly life-like, and held a bowl above her head from which cascaded a steady stream of water.

"Did you know," Ishanah said softly when Saliea drew closer, "that there is a necklace upon this statue?"

Sal nodded, sliding onto the edge of the fountain near the draenei. "Yes. I even know who placed it there." She pulled up a leg and slid it beneath her, sitting sideways so she was facing the draenei squarely. "Are you well?"

Ishanah shifted, smiling tiredly at her. "It must have been quite a climb." She turned, putting her back to the stone elf and exhaling deeply. "I am tired," she chuckled quietly. "They are urging me to rest here. But, I think it best we return to Shattrath."

Nodding, Saliea stood and offered an arm to Ishanah, then looked up at the statue.

"Tebrion, my brother, climbed that, and placed that necklace on the statue in honor of his lost love," she said quietly as she tugged out the magical mirror from the pocket she'd secreted it in. Ishanah gently took her hand and the druid pictured the open area before A'dal, and ordered the mirror to take them there.

At first no one took any notice of them, intent on the battle still raging just outside the city, but a ragged cheer went up when Ishanah's presence was noticed.

Saliea disentangled herself from the priestess and dropped to her knees, eyes on a figure laid out at A'dal's base. Mikael was flat on his back and surrounded by a soft golden glow that seemed to connect him to the being of light floating just above him; his eyes were shut and he was deathly pale and unmoving.

_Peace, druid, _she heard the naaru whisper through her mind. _He is unwell, but alive, and we need him left alone for the time being._

"But-"

_He will be fine, given time to recover. He is in our care now. You should see to yourself, rest and eat something before you collapse._

The naaru must have said something beyond her hearing, for two others came and took her by the elbows, carefully tugging her to her feet and guiding her away; the night elf didn't bother arguing or fighting with them, letting them lead her where they wanted. They led her - and she'd only just noticed that it was another night elf and a human, both males, leading her - to an elevator that took them up some distance before slowing and coming level with a platform. Sal's eyes were drawn upward to two wing-like structures that birthed identical waterfalls hanging high above them in the air; the distance they fell turned them from a thundering stream to a pattering rain that fell into quiet pools of water with some variation of lily floating in them.

Ahead of them in the distance she could see a stairway leading up to a building, with several heavily-armed guards - draenei all of them - standing at the ready. In fact, as Sal looked around she noted all guards in this area were draenei, and she and her guides apparently were the only non-draenei humanoids to be seen.

"Welcome to Aldor Rise," said the human, standing on her right. His deeply tanned skin and wild red, bushy hair and beard brought to mind the image of an unusually tall dwarf, a stark contrast to the pale skin and light blue hair of the night elf male accompanying them. They let her stand a moment longer and admire the scenery, before guiding her up the platform and to their left.

There were a few buildings around, but they led her directly to the furthest one away; they let her enter it by herself, and a quiet draenei female smiled faintly up at her, then motioned with her head toward the doorway behind her. Sal nodded and silently stepped through into a room of draenei all crowded around one of the beds against the far wall.

Sevei's family quieted as she entered, all turning to glance her direction. Sal's eyes roamed over them all, deciding there had to be all of Sevei's siblings here with their spouses - though which was what she had no way of knowing - and Savion slouched painfully in a chair that was drawn up beside his son's bed. Sevei lay pale and still in the bed, but as Saliea watched his chest rose and fell; she quickly glanced around at his family again, feeling incredibly shy. They parted to let her through, smiling, and Savion chuckled warmly as she timidly stepped into the circle of draenei.

"Come here and sit by me," he said quietly, Sal obediently dropping into a low stool by the huge draenei. "He woke a few moments ago, and the only thing on his mind was the need to know whether you were safe. We had no information for him, sadly, so I fear his rest is disturbed at best." He rested a hand on the bed, briefly tightening his fingers in the thin sheet before sighing and smoothing it back out; a moment afterward he turned to Sal and grinned. "I imagine I may have to become used to calling you daughter in law?"

Sal flushed a deep red. "I believe it is a little early to say something like that."

"Not that the idea doesn't appeal to you though, yes?"

"Oh, don't badger her father," chuckled a male that could have been a younger Savion, he looked so much like his father. "You'll scare her off."

"You wouldn't want him for a father in law anyway," one of the others chimed in, and they all laughed.

At that moment a soft sigh caught their attention; Sevei's eyes fluttered open and fixated on Sal. She was already clutching for his hand, smiling and swallowing hard as the uncontrollable urge to cry rose up in her. Sevei, his voice hardly more than a whisper, muttered something in draenic; Savion chuckled and shook his head, gesturing. The brother that had teased Savion about badgering came around and offered his father an arm, helping the injured paladin to his feet.

"We shall leave you two in peace, for now," Savion said, a smile on his face. "By chance did you see where my son Zephyr has gotten to?"

Sal shook her head without looking at him, and slowly Sevei's family filed out of the room. When they were gone, Sevei reached for her even as she slid up onto the bed beside him; she let him tuck her in against his body, cuddling in as close as she could even as he buried his face in his hair. He was murmuring something quietly in his own language, but she didn't need a translator to understand the meaning behind them. The druid simply joined hands with him and felt him shake against her; later, she decided, she would ask him what had happened when she'd left him in the forest, but for now all she wanted was her shaman, and peace and quiet.

* * *

"When their leader left, the demons became chaotic and disorganized. It quickly became a rout."

Ishanah nodded silently, not aware of the speaker's identity but acknowledging him nonetheless. Her attention was mostly for A'dal, who was continuously speaking to the draenei, forcing Ishanah to split her attention between the naaru and those crowded around her.

'I had never heard of this affliction,' she thought silently, knowing A'dal would understand her even though she hadn't spoken aloud.

_We have only seen it a handful of times ourselves. It is always unfortunate to find one suffering from it._

'How do we protect against this? How do we fight it?'

Ishanah felt as though the naaru gave a helpless mental shrug. _As we have studied the magical malady, we have found no rhyme or reason for it to occur. It is random and chaotic, much like raw magic. The warlock's contamination may be explained by his proximity to the ley line itself when he was born, but that theory is useless, as one we found suffering from this contamination was born as far from a ley line as one could physically get._

'So essentially nothing is known.'

_Precisely. We only have basic methods with which to combat the problem. Draining the victim of magic and monitoring energy levels is what we discovered worked first...from there it was only a matter of devising a spell, a binding, to wholly protect the victim from the influence of the lines._

'Blocking them off from the magic of the ley line, and forcing them to rely only on what they can manage on their own?'

_Yes. The warlock will never be able to draw directly from a line, but I believe that is a small price to pay for his life, and the lives of others._

Ishanah was silent a long moment. 'What if he is within the spell matrix of someone else drawing on a line? How will that effect him?'

_He can manipulate the magic, but not draw it himself, and it will have no effect on the binding spell we place on him. This we know from the being who allowed us to test the binding spell on her._

'And...should Mikael need to remove the binding from himself?' Ishanah hesitantly asked.

A'dal was silent for several minutes, and Ishanah felt the equivalent of a sigh from the naaru. _We will, of course, instruct him on how to remove it from himself should the dire need arise. Do you...believe a need will arise?_

'I do not know...it is merely a feeling,' Ishanah thought somberly.

_Your feelings, as you call them, are generally correct, _A'dal said rather wryly.

Ishanah chuckled to herself. 'I understand my gut instincts about as well as we understand these...ley-touched individuals.'

_The individual is easier to understand than the affliction itself._

'Very true.'

When A'dal fell silent again, Ishanah turned her full attention to those around her.

* * *

The first thing he noticed was he was warm and no longer laying on stone; he instead was wrapped in a soft blanket and resting on what felt like a featherbed after his memory of where he remembered losing consciousness.

His eyelids were so heavy, it took a seemingly massive effort just to crack them open slightly and stare blearily up at the ceiling that appeared to be miles and miles above him. Finally his vision focused itself, and the rest of his senses began to wake up; the ceiling above was of wood painted a light tan, the color beginning to chip here and there. He smelled the freshness of the linens of his bed, and could also detect the faintest scent of blood on the air, the smell wafted to him when, somewhere to his left, a door opened. He must be in Shattrath then...and then he heard a soft 'thud' and the rustle of cloth, and painfully, slowly he turned his head toward the noise.

Meraka sat in a chair near his bedside, a heavy book held - now shut - in her lap, and was studying him silently.

"Good morning, warlock," she greeted him quietly.

Mikael tried responding, but for the life of him couldn't get his mouth to form the words, and instead let out a faint grunt. A faint smile crossed Meraka's face, and she placed the book on the bed near his leg and leaned forward.

"A'dal warned us that you might not fully be aware when you awoke. Do you at least know who you are? Who I am?"

Again speech wasn't possible, so he simply nodded - and even that felt like it took an eternity.

Meraka nodded back to him. "Good. You aren't as far gone as was predicted. Your recovery time should be less as well." She leaned over him, staring into his face. "Your eyes are bright, you're definitely aware."

The back of his neck burned like it was on fire, and he allowed the natural pull of his muscle to straighten his head, looking up at the ceiling once more. His fingers and feet tingled as he became aware of them, like his nerves were rewriting themselves; he weakly curled his fingers into the sheet beneath him, twitched his toes, and grimaced as the pins-and-needles feeling began to crawl up the rest of his body.

"Are you thirsty?"

Mikael could barely manage a nod, finding he couldn't get his mouth to move the way he wanted it to. He heard a rustle of cloth, heard water being poured, and then felt Meraka's presence close by even as her shadow fell over him.

"This will...this will hurt, a lot," she said. There was a click as she sat his water down on what he could only assume was a bedside table, then she slid an arm behind his neck.

Even the brief touch and the sensation of her arm moving along his neck sent incredible pain shooting through his head. Meraka immediately stopped moving him, gazing down into his face.

"I'm sorry, to sit up is really going to hurt. Would you prefer I fetched a priest instead?"

Mikael shook his head and inhaled unsteadily. Meraka gave him a moment to compose himself, then began to slowly lift him up from the bed.

Pure, white-hot agony raced up the entire length of his spine, and he felt his body spasm uncontrollably. A garbled moan slipped out from between his lips and the mage paused, holding him suspended above the bed as he twitched and writhed.

"I'm so sorry, Mikael, but you would have gone through this sooner or later, once they'd realized you were awake," Meraka said quietly. She had to wrap an arm around his waist and clamp him to her as he went limp, panting hoarsely; steadying him with one hand, the orc reached behind herself and pulled forward a mug full of cold, clear water. The first few sips tasted like fine wine to him, wetting a tongue and mouth he hadn't realized were that parched.

"Slowly," Meraka cautioned, the barest hint of a smile crossing her face.

Mikael sipped carefully, then used his lips to push the cup away when he'd had his fill. Meraka lowered him gently back to the bed and held his arm as he groaned and sweated.

'What is causing the pain?' he wondered, the first full rational thought he could remember making. The room began to grow darker, and he had the strange thought of time speeding up and ushering in nightfall at a ridiculous pace, then realized it was simply his eyelids drooping shut. Sleep came over him in a rush, and Meraka watched silently as he fell back into unconsciousness.

The next several days were the same: he would wake briefly to find someone sitting with him, they would offer him water or food, he would nibble or sip at whatever was given him, then he'd fall back asleep. He was beginning to feel like he was sleeping the rest of his life away when one morning he woke and discovered he had full control over his body, and there wasn't the annoying tingling feeling in his extremities.

He turned his head - his neck no longer burned either - and saw once again it was Meraka sitting there. She once again had her nose buried in a heavy tome, and this time even appeared to be taking notes; a sheet of parchment, a bottle of ink and a quill all sat on a tiny table by her side, the parchment littered with scribblings of diagrams and long lines of immaculately tiny handwriting.

"_M-Meraka..."_

She jumped at his voice, turning to look at him. "I see you found your voice," she said after a moment, smiling.

"_How...how long?"_

Her smile faded a tiny bit. "...pardon?"

_"How long...have I been asleep? How long have...I been here?"_

Now the smile went away completely. "Nod yes or no, if you would: you can understand me perfectly fine, correct?"

Puzzled, Mikael nodded. Meraka bit her lip, scribbled something on her parchment, then stood and sat her book down in her seat. "E-excuse me a moment, warlock. I...need to find someone to translate."

"_Translate?" _he repeated as she scurried from the room. A moment later she came back, all but dragging an unfamiliar draenei male with her.

"Okay, try speaking now," she told him. Mikael stared at her blankly.

"_Uh...very well?"_

The draenei's expression turned from one of puzzlement to surprise, eyes widening.

"_Would you kindly tell me what's wrong with me now?" _Mikael finally growled.

"_I, well...are you listening to yourself?" _the draenei asked slowly.

_ "What? Of course I am."_

The draenei looked to Meraka, a look on his face that was somewhere between amusement and exasperation. "I'm fairly certain he doesn't realize he's speaking draenic."

"_I'm what?"_ Mikael asked bluntly, eyes narrowing. "_This isn't funny anymore."_

Meraka sighed and brushed hair from her face. "I should tell A'dal at once. Could you wait here with him?"

Mikael wasn't listening to her as she spoke, and didn't notice her leaving the room - his thoughts were on the draenei's words of 'he doesn't realize he's speaking draenic.'

The idea was impossible, yet Mikael's mind flashed back to his battle with Drasai; when he had cast the eredar from his body, he'd been forced to draw on not only his own memories for strength, but also those of Drasai...he could almost physically feel huge gaps in his memory, and there were also large areas that felt alien to him. Wrong.

The combining of memories...what was Drasai, and what was purely Mikael?

A slight, unconscious shifting on his part sent fresh pain shooting up his spine, and he willed himself still; in fact, he shut his eyes and, with a deep sigh, decided to find out exactly how badly damaged his memories were.

* * *

Days seemed to pass quickly, but at least he was feeling more like himself now. After that morning, several weeks ago, when he'd started speaking draenic to a very surprised Meraka, Mikael had spent most of his time within his own mind; he'd never realized how hard it was to examine one's own memories. So much of his were gone, blank places that almost seemed to tease him with their lack of information - he knew, he _felt, _that something should be there, but the more he tried to recall the lost knowledge the more he felt he was beginning to simply create new memories to fill the gaps. He knew the mind was easily deceived, especially by oneself, and didn't exactly relish the idea of lying to himself, so once he found what he believed was a lost area of his past he carefully skirted it and continued on.

It was hard to examine those he knew to be some bizarre result of the memories that had combined. He couldn't even make sense of them half the time, but little by little Mikael began to unravel that which was him, and that which was Drasai, apart.

He requested from the draenei two bound books of blank parchment - paid a good bit of coin for them, in fact - and was now filling those pages bit by bit.

Well..._he _wasn't filling them, but they were getting filled.

He'd never forget the look on Saliea's face when she had dropped in to check on him, and had found Jakpit sitting on the warlock's chest with one of the blank books in his lap. The quill he held looked ridiculously oversized in the small imp's hand, and he was rapidly scribbling as Mikael murmured from his prone position. After several long moments, Jakpit would set his quill and ink pot down carefully, then turn the book around so Mikael could see it.

"Thislookcorrectmaster?" he had chittered, then nearly overturned the ink when he realized Saliea was looking at him.

Mikael nodded, then had smiled up at her. "Hey."

"How are you feeling?" she'd asked, smiling back and perching on the edge of his bed. "I see you're back to speaking Common."

The warlock stuck his tongue out at her. "Yes, yes, back to Common. And I feel better. More myself, I..." he'd started, then sighed heavily with a helpless grin. "There's still large stretches of my childhood I can't remember. I know something should be there, but for the life of me I can't recall it, and...the memories I accidentally stole from Drasai are fading, hence my return to my own native language."

"And the new ones?"

"...are there, but I don't know what to make of them."

Sal eyed the book Jakpit was holding up, blinking at the shifting runes and complex magical notations written fully in Demonic, with paragraphs written in Common here and there. She looked back to him. "Fading?"

"Yes," he replied. "Trying to recall them now is like trying to see through a fog - everything is hidden beneath a veil, hard to see." He nodded at the book. "I'm...writing down what I remember. Spells. Stories. Whatever I can clearly recall of Drasai's life."

Sal picked up the book and thumbed through it, whistling at the amount of pages filled with the imp's tidy scribblings. "There's a lot here..."

"I seem to remember more about him than I do myself, yes," Mikael chuckled. "It's...odd. He turned my brother against me, possessed me, I think he intended to kill me after using me, and yet...I feel so sorry for him." A pain-filled grimace briefly passed over his face as he shifted slightly. "The memories left in me of him are from his life before the Legion. Argus seemed...like a beautiful place, what I can remember of it."

"Drasai was an artist, a lover of crafting, painting, music. He laughed easily and smiled often. He had a wife, but no children. He loved giving gifts, and..." Mikael sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "The Legion tortured him, twisted his soul. I saw it. I remember it, and in some ways I feel it. The scars ran deep, too deep for him to ever have recovered from...what parts of the Drasai that existed before the Legion died long ago, all that we saw was his pain, fear, and his rage. He was driven insane by the forces of evil and unwillingly became their pawn; they turned his love for his people into a weapon that nearly did kill Ishanah - and me." Mikael let his gaze meet Sal's. "He...like me...did not choose the path he walked."

Sal carefully flipped back to the page the imp had been working on, and Jakpit busily went back to work scratching out words at Mikael's command. For a long moment, the druid simply studied the warlock as he laid in bed and dictated to the imp, then she sighed.

"Mikael...have you ever thought that, perhaps, the path of a paladin was not the one you were meant to take?"

"Hmm?"

"Well," Sal said slowly. "While I am a firm believer of the only one who controls your fate is you...I do believe that sometimes, we deceive ourselves down the wrong path." She tucked her feet up under her and rested a hand on his chest, a faint smile on her face. "When I finally learned of my true parents, and learned that my mother was a healer, I wanted to follow in her footsteps. I studied the healing arts long and hard, and try as I might I simply couldn't achieve the results I wanted. I was born to fight, and like it or not I have to accept that healing is not what I was born to do."

"Are you saying I was born to associate with evil?" Mikael asked dryly.

She chuckled. "No, I'm saying you have a destiny in store for you, one that currently isn't known. Really, Mikael, think of your past...not of the sadness and the hardship, but of what you've done. You wielded the Light. You command the darkness without falling prey to its corruption. You have mastered every challenge life has thrown at you...I can only hope to accomplish half of what you've done in my lifetime, and I likely will live five times longer than you."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, that's ridiculous. I haven't done much of anything."

With a roll of her eyes, she stood. "You may say that, but others see things differently. When will you ever take credit for your heroics?"

"Whenever I feel like I truly deserve the credit," Mikael muttered.

Sal gave Jakpit a quick pat on the head, to the imp's irritation, before heading toward the door. "I'd like to hear more about Drasai, when you're finished," she said quietly, pausing in the doorway.

"Of course."

She swept out of the door, and Mikael had gone back to dictating to Jakpit. That last visit had been days ago, but he'd learned from Meraka and Tebrion that she was splitting her time between Donnovan, her father, and helping Sevei recover from the curse that had nearly ended his life. Tebrion, the few times he had visited, sounded tired and worn, and Meraka had quietly confided in the warlock about Tebrion's trials with Zion; the night elf had slipped into darkness on the battle field, and had sought out the shadow priest as a mentor.

"Zion believes he wishes to learn to use the power to protect others," Meraka sighed. "Tebrion wishes to learn solely so he won't touch such power again."

Mikael understood the night elf's distaste for the dark magic, and wished he could say something encouraging without revealing to him that Meraka had spoken about his problem.

Mikael himself was getting rather frustrated with his inability to move; it felt like someone was pressing a hot iron to his spine if he shifted the wrong way. He'd finally learned it was a side effect of the binding spell placed on him by A'dal, but the draenei relaying the naaru's words told him that A'dal was puzzled by the lingering effects.

"The pain should have faded by now," the male had explained as he helped Mikael sit up carefully so he could change his robes and the bedsheets.

It'd been nearly a month, he knew, since A'dal had sealed him away from the magic of ley lines. During that time he'd summoned and examined all his demonic servants; the act of summoning severely drained him, and so he knew immediately something had happened to them all. He had finally managed to coax Elervina to tell him of her 'death' at Drasai's hands, and for the first time he was thankful that his own life force tethered the demons he controlled to the realm of the living - they would continue to live as long as he did, and so long as he controlled them his own life would fuel theirs.

Now that she'd been summoned, Elervina began to take over Jakpit's task of writing as Mikael spoke - her elegant handwriting definitely didn't seem to fit her appearance - but she definitely wrote faster than the imp did. Soon Mikael had what he felt was all of Drasai's memories written down within the covers of one book, and the other...

Writing while laying flat on his back proved to be a challenge, but he found he could prop himself up on the pillows and only move his wrist, thus writing without putting himself in pain. This second tome was for his eyes only - in this book he was recording all of the spells and magical knowledge he had learned from Drasai. The magic was a mix of Drasai before the Legion, and Drasai after he had become the Legion's newest monster, a mishmash of helpful and dreadful, downright nasty magic. Mikael was writing it all down, copying it from the first book, writing it carefully in Demonic.

He had at first questioned including this knowledge in the first book, the one that told of Drasai's life in full; arguing with himself, Mikael had almost excluded this information, but had realized one very important factor: this magic, good or evil, had been a large part of what Drasai had been. He had compromised with himself and written the evil magics in Demonic, a proper language for the spells, and the rest he had penned in Common. What had pushed him to that decision was the decision on who would receive this book...

However, as nasty as some of the spells were, Mikael did not want to lose this knowledge that was fast fading from his memory.

So he had begun copying the spells to the second book, one for his own use and his own eyes. He couldn't be certain when the spells would prove useful...but such powerful magic shouldn't be forgotten. At the very least, he would hold the knowledge of how to combat them should he ever run across them sometime in the future.

Though...he would be lying if he didn't admit that _one _spell would immediately be useful.

The next day, when Meraka came in to see him, a gemstone about the size of a marble sat on the table beside Mikael's bed. It was jet black shot through with silver swirls...

She looked at it, then at Mikael, and her eyes widened when he sat up with no difficulty, no hint of pain at all.

"Good morning, Meraka."

* * *

Mikael sat on the stairs beneath A'dal, eyes on the floor as he waited. The naaru's presence was both comforting and overwhelming to him, but he sat in silence and hugged the two books to his chest. It was only the second time he'd left the small room he'd been recovering in, but Mikael felt certain he wouldn't be remaining there much longer.

A certain amount of dread was in him, mixed with anxiety. Only this morning he had learned that Datavian's body had never been found. Sal, Sevei, Donnovan, Malchoir, all could recall where the man had fallen after Spellcleaver had pierced his heart, but Meraka had accompanied them back out to the place, and recalled riding through there with the warriors she'd brought from Orgrimmar. There had been no body there, she'd insisted, and so there were several groups out in the forest seeking any sign of the spellcaster's remains. Thus far, no one had found even a thread from Datavian's robes, only a few remnants of the demons Drasai had set loose on Shattrath.

Mikael's fingers unconsciously tightened on the books he held; Datavian's disappearance had him incredibly worried.

Soft footsteps heralded the arrival of the one Mikael waited on. He looked up to see Ishanah approaching, shooing away the few attendants who followed her. Mikael nodded his head in greeting as the draenei lowered herself onto the stair beside him.

"How are you feeling this morning, Mikael?"

"I'm recovering, slowly but surely," Mikael replied, Ishanah nodding back at him.

"That is wonderful news." A brief silence fell, but Ishanah inhaled deeply and turned to look directly at him. "I trust A'dal has fully explained your affliction to you?"

"Yes," came the answer. "And he's already performed the binding ritual on me." As he said this, he turned and pulled up his shirt, displaying his bare back to the draenei. Bright red-gold markings ran up the length of his spine, disappearing down the back of his pants (ending at his tailbone, he knew) and running up to his hairline and the base of his skull. The markings were elegant, resembled the shape of the naaru who had placed them there, and would remain on his back for as long as the binding spell was in place. "I glow in the dark now," he said with a chuckle.

"Your pain...is gone?"

Mikael shrugged his shirt back into place, carefully sat the two books on the ground at his feet and patted at his pockets a moment, before removing the black gemstone and resting it in his palm. "It is now," he said softly, offering the stone to the draenei.

Ishanah carefully took it and looked at Mikael in surprise. "This is...?"

"The remnants of Drasai that remained in my body." Ishanah tipped the stone back into Mikael's palm, and the human hefted it. "All the memories and fragments of the soul that I could locate and remove before they faded from myself are contained in this gem. I was surprised to find the knowledge of the spell in my mind...it was the same one Drasai used to remove my soul from my body, and I guess I've returned the favor." He held it up, watching the light glint off the silver within the jewel. "All that remains in me now is all that remains _of _me. There's still large gaps in my recollection of my life..."

"You will make new ones to fill the gaps," Ishanah said with a smile. "And what's to say that you will never recover those memories? People other than you were there when you grew up, after all."

Mikael nodded, smiling. "Yes, I already plan to ask my father when I see him again."

"When do you plan on departing for Stormwind?"

With a shrug and a sigh, Mikael bent back down to pick up the books. "I don't know...I'm rather reluctant to leave Sal...and the others," he added quickly, clearing his throat as Ishanah chuckled. Feeling his face flush slightly, Mikael shoved the top book at Ishanah. "Here."

The draenei took the book and rested it in her lap, staring at the unmarked cover. "What is this?"

"A telling of Drasai's life, what I learned of him," Mikael said quietly. "I put all I remembered into it, and...there's things in there that need guarding from others, true, but honestly I believe that if anyone should know what happened to make Drasai what he is, it would be you. You'd know best how to teach his story, I'd guess."

Now Ishanah ran trembling fingers down the front of the book, glancing from it to Mikael. "I...I see." She tipped the cover open and scanned the first page, eyes widening in surprise when she took in the words.

"'Light protect you, wherever you go. Light guide your arm, deed, and word. Happiness and peace to you, friend. Walk always in the Light,'" Ishanah whispered as she read. "A blessing?"

The warlock actually looked sheepish. "A blessing...for Drasai as he once was."

Ishanah shook her head in amazement, and was silent for a long moment, then eyed Mikael. "You truly do have the heart of a paladin."

"No," Mikael said simply. "If I did, that's what I would be. I'm...something different."

"Indeed you are, and that's nothing to be ashamed of."

Clearing his throat, Mikael picked up the other book and stood. "I included everything in there, good and bad, and I expect there will be many parts you cannot read...and perhaps that's for the best. The fewer who gain the knowledge of evil, the better off the world will be." He held up the other book. "I hold here the only other copy of the spell knowledge Drasai 'left' to me. I will guard it well."

"As will I," Ishanah said, standing with him. "Are you departing?"

Mikael inhaled deeply, exhaled, then nodded. "Yes. I have a feeling I have been away from my home for far too long."

The draenei rested a hand on the warlock's shoulder and gently squeezed his fingers. "You are a remarkable man, Mikael Sullivan. Light go with you."

"And you, High Priestess," Mikael said quietly, shrugging off Ishanah's hand with a smile and walking away with a small wave over his shoulder.

Tebrion was out with Zion in some undisclosed location. Kakum (with very high honors from the draenei for his role in commanding troops in the battle) and Brock had both said their goodbyes early on and had returned to Orgrimmar. Meraka had left for home the day before, but not before she'd dumped a set of scrolls on him as he was getting dressed.

"This," she'd explained, "is all the information I could find on the history of the battle casters. It may not be what afflicts you now, but perhaps you'll find something useful in it all the same."

Mikael had thanked her, truly surprised by the wealth of information she'd just given him, and promised to return the scrolls to her once he'd had a chance to read through them and copy out what he wished to study in further detail.

The blood elf, Malchoir, he hadn't a chance to even speak with, but the elf was hanging around Saliea with the claim of a life debt that still needed repaying.

"_I will remain with you until I feel I have repaid you for saving me from Datavian,"_ the rogue had firmly told her, and no amount of convincing on her part had made the male leave so the druid now essentially had a shadow following her about when she and Sevei walked about Shattrath.

Mikael paused at the base of the elevator that would take him up to Aldor Rise, where Sevei and Sal were currently residing until the healers decided Sevei was well enough to let him return to his wanderings. He found he still deeply cared for the druid, and still harbored a mild jealously toward the shaman for his claim on her heart, but...if Saliea was happy, then Mikael would be happy for her, no matter what. He climbed onto the elevator and let it carry him up, then took an immediate left off the platform and headed for the tiny room the two were staying in.

When he knocked on the door, Sevei answered it. The draenei was still incredibly pale, but he walked with a spring in his step that spoke of his health returning; Mikael gave him a brief smile.

"I've decided I'm leaving to return to Stormwind, and came to say good bye. Is Sal around?"

Sevei shook his head. "She, Donnovan, and Fandral Staghelm departed for Moonglade yesterday evening, to visit the burial site of Saliea's mother. They will return within the week, but if you plan on leaving now..."

"Yes, then I won't get to see her," Mikael sighed. He shifted his grip on the book he held and leaned against the door frame. "Will you...tell her I said good bye?"

The shaman smiled. "Of course. It's not like we'll never see one another again."

Mikael nodded. "True. I trust you're almost back to normal?"

Sevei slapped a hand against his stomach. "Only rock-hard part of me now is natural muscle," he chuckled. "A few effects still stubbornly linger, but they will fade in time."

Sighing heavily, Mikael pushed himself from the door. "Then I suppose this is it. Good bye." He stuck out a hand. "I was glad to fight alongside you."

Sevei took Mikael's hand and shook it briefly. "And I you."

Mikael fixed the draenei with a stare, swallowing hard. "T-take care of her, okay?"

"I will," came the quiet reply.

With a nod, Mikael abruptly turned and strode quickly back toward the elevator, feeling Sevei's gaze in the middle of his back.

* * *

The morning brought the same aches and pains to his aging body; James Sullivan rolled to his side and sat up, reaching for the cane propped up against the side of his bed. He closed his eyes, thanked the Light he was still able to get out of bed in the mornings, and stood.

As he wobbled across the room to the chamber pot, once again he cursed the magic that his son - his own son! - had inflicted him with that caused his hands to shake, his legs to weaken, his breath to come in short gasps if he walked too much. It had aged him prematurely, but as he swore at the magic he also thanked the Light that he was even alive.

A slight pang went through his heart as he thought that; he was only alive because of his youngest son, someone he had not seen in many years. As he did every morning, he said a little prayer to the Light for him, asked that he return home. He was, after all, the only family James had left.

Slowly he dressed himself, and looked out the tiny window in his room to see bright sunlight filling Cathedral Square. Perhaps he would make the trip out to Goldshire, visit his beloved Koulson's grave...he could stop by Katrina's cart and purchase a bouquet of white roses, Koulson's favorite flowers, and then make his way to Koulson's stone and sit and visit a while...

He opened his door and immediately heard the hurried whispers of voices coming from...well, the stone walls distorted the sound, so he wasn't exactly sure from where. Curiosity made him pause and shut his eyes to listen, then head off toward the entrance of the Cathedral of Light. His guess was correct, as the voices got louder - but still not exactly understandable - the closer he drew to the main entryway. With his cane tapping in the stone hallway, James rounded a corner and almost ran into a young altar boy who seemed quite out of breath.

"M'lord Sullivan sir! Come quickly!"

"What? What is it?" James immediately asked, mind flashing through his worst fears: an attack on Stormwind, his eldest in chains...his youngest dead...

With the boy supporting him on one side, James picked up his stumbling pace and hurried outside...and nearly tumbled down the steps in outright surprise when he took in the figure standing at the foot of them.

His youngest son, Mikael, stood nervously at the bottom of the steps, eying the group of men he had once stood beside as a fellow paladin. A large bouquet of white roses was clenched in one hand, and he swallowed hard as he stared up at his father.

"D-do you want to g-g-go visit mother?" he stammered.

James dropped his cane in his rush to get down the stairs, using his ungainly stride to his advantage; Mikael dropped the flowers he held and met his father halfway, throwing himself into the man's open arms.

"My boy, my boy..." James murmured over and over, tears beginning to stream down his face.

"I have a l-lot to tell you," Mikael choked, swallowing again. "But...I'm home t-to stay."

* * *

Mikael lowered his father into the soft grass at the base of a tree near Koulson's grave. The older man was still wiping tears from his face, while Mikael continued to try to retain a dry face; with his father watching silently, he took the bouquet he'd bought from Katrina and carefully arranged it on the tombstone, then knelt beside it.

"Mother, I'm home," he said quietly, running a hand down the side of the stone. "I..I found him, I found Datavian. I made him pay for the pain he'd caused." Mikael reached into the pouch slung across his back and pulled out several objects, arranging them on the ground in front of his knees.

Spellcleaver's hilt laid in the grass next to the book Mikael had penned, and the gemstone that was all that remained of Drasai.

"I have one hell of a story for you, Mother," he said quietly.

For the next several hours, Mikael recounted everything he remembered starting from the day he had departed Stormwind long ago. He could hear James occasionally gasp, or grunt, throughout the entire tale, and when he got to the part where he'd plunged Spellcleaver through Datavian's heart, the man let out a low moan.

"There was no saving him, Mother," Mikael whispered, hanging his head. "I wanted to believe I could, but... The demons he associated with must have borne his body away as well, as we couldn't find it despite the amount of searching that was done." Now Mikael carefully picked up the hilt from the grass, all that remained of the miraculous blade his parents had created. "I'm sorry I had to destroy Spellcleaver...you and Father put your heart and soul into this weapon, and I had to shatter it to defeat Drasai..." He picked up the book and began flipping one-handed through the pages, seeking not a spell of destruction, but one of creation. Finding the page he required, Mikael stood.

He held the sword hilt out and began to gesture over it, moving only to bend and pick up a handful of earth from his mother's grave and sprinkle it over Spellcleaver. The broken weapon began to glow a soft silver, and after several long moments Mikael pressed it, upside down, into the tombstone just beneath his mother's name. It sank in like the stone was as soft as butter, and when Mikael removed his hand the hilt stayed there, a rubied cross in the grave marker.

"And..." he said quietly, using the toe of his boot to flip one more page and bending slightly to examine the page.

Spell firmly in mind, Mikael glanced around and found a branch of oak; he quickly cleaned it of bark and trimmed an end to a point, then stood near Koulson's grave at the base.

"I...feel you would agree with me, that he deserves a proper burial," Mikael said quietly, looking from the grave over to his father. "Is it okay, if I leave him here with Mother?"

James soundlessly nodded, eyes on his son. Mikael took a deep breath, then began to cast as he gouged out a rough square in the ground at his feet. With a single word, the ground melted away, revealing a deep hole full of surprised earthworms and beetles that all scurried away when their sheltering earth simply disappeared. Mikael reached into a pocket and removed the gemstone, Drasai's soul gem, and let it tip from his palm into the hole. Just as the scent of fresh soil was reaching him, Mikael waved the oak branch he held and the displaced earth reappeared like it had never disappeared in the first place; Mikael took the oak he held and pressed it point-down into the middle of the square and watched the branch as it melted away, imbuing the earth concealing the soul gem, and masking the gem from magical interference of any kind.

Now he bent down and carefully closed the book, glancing at his father from over his shoulder. James sniffled, digging the heel of a palm into an eye.

"Let's...go home, son."

Mikael stood and slid the book into his pouch, then hurried over and helped his father stand, handing him his cane. "Yes...let's."


End file.
